


Perpendicular

by Papillon87



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Musicians, Alternate Universe - Ski Resort, First Love - sort of, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2020-06-09 15:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19478680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papillon87/pseuds/Papillon87
Summary: The man walking towards him is beautiful.Not handsome, not simply good-looking, but ethereal in a slightly unreal way - tall, his face stunning, pale skin immaculate in a way that looks absurdly out of place in a busy ski resort, where ‘the more tan the better’ is the rule.Ignoring the wild thumping in his chest, Bin waves cheerfully and stretches out his hand. ‘Hi! You must be Dongmin. I’m Bin, welcome to Ski Paradise. Have you ever skied before?’Dongmin’s uncertain smile widens, like sun breaking through the clouds, making him look years younger.‘Nope. Never. And you should know I’m hopeless. I’m going to make your life this week an utter hell.’Bin laughs out loud and after a second of stunned silence Dongmin joins him a little hesitantly.‘Don’t worry. I promise that after this week you will be able to pretend you can ski.’





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alette/gifts).



> Apologies for writing about snow in July - but I guess it will be rather fitting for my friends down under lol
> 
> Enjoy!

**Bin**

People always say snow is beautiful.

They liken its splendour to diamonds glistening in the sun. Talk about sheets of brilliant white, covering the countryside like a sparkling blanket. Marvel at fluffy snowflakes falling gently to the ground.

Magical.

Pure.

Soft.

If someone asked Bin – not that anyone ever did – he would beg to differ.

Snow _is_ beautiful, he would never deny that, but its beauty has many faces and colours, not all of them gentle.

At dusk, with fir trees casting their shadows over it and the sun dipping rapidly behind the peaks on the horizon, it looks almost blue from the distance.

There are mornings when the foggy, damp cold seeps its way through all layers of clothes and settles in one’s bones - and the snow is but the enemy under one’s feet, its shade a dull grey, covering the ground like a heavy wet rag, ready to trap legs under its weight and break bones.

It can blind, each flake a tiny needle piercing the skin, swirled by a whipping wind, a flurry dance of whiteness, disorientating and treacherous.

At the end of April it lures, tempting and looking a little sad, yellowed by mud - the last vestiges of winter whispering to an impatient skier, come, try me, I’m still here - all the while hiding a ravine under a thin layer of promise, a bottomless fissure, ready to kill.

Snow is beautiful, Bin knows that – but it can also be deadly.

None of this crosses his mind as he glances briefly out of the window and checks the cloudless sky on Monday morning, eyes still puffy with sleep and the kettle whistling in the background.

Rising from behind the sleepy roofs of Kitzbühel, the legendary peak of the Hahnenkamm is drenched in sunlight, although the valley is still slumbering, streets drowned in soft shadows of an early morning.

Slurping the scorching coffee, Bin rummages in the cupboards for something edible. The cereal box doesn’t yield much, only a couple of Cheerios rattle at the very bottom, and he tosses the empty packet in the recycling bin with an exasperated grunt. A lone _Kipferl_ is sitting in the bread bin, forgotten and looking a little sad. Bin pulls it out and chews on it absentmindedly, making a mental note to go shopping after work.

After finishing his meagre breakfast, he stuffs a can of soda and couple of cereal bars in his backpack and yanks the door open, mindful of the time ticking by.

He shouldn’t have snoozed the alarm three times.

The tiny hallway has no heating and the cold air hits him squarely in the face, chasing away the remnants of sleep that were still clinging to him barely a minute ago. The coat of his ski suit is hanging on the hook and Bin quickly pulls it on, goosebumps prickling his skin.

The snow boots are cold as he slips into them, his movements hurried, trying not to linger, trying not to make too much noise, aware of the stillness behind the other door across the hallway. Hana is probably still asleep and he wants her to be; she needs to recover from whatever viral nastiness brought her down the day before.

He zips up his coat and is ready to leave when Hana’s door opens with a soft click.

‘Hey, neighbour,’ Bin smiles and forgoes his usual kiss this time. No need for the germs to spread.

‘Hey, my guardian angel,’ Hana’s voice is croaky and Bin can see the flush of her cheeks hasn’t gone yet, her eyes glistening with fever.

‘How are you feeling?’

The answer is painfully obvious, but he asks anyway.

‘Shitty. The fever has gone down a little, but not completely.’

‘What are you doing here then? Go back to bed.’

It feels weird to boss Hana around - their age gap and her seniority at work puts Bin in the role of a baby for most of the time - but this morning, standing in the doorway with a terrible bedhead and looking tiny in PJs that are way too big on her slender frame, Hana looks like a little girl.

‘I need a wee, boss. Am I allowed?’ she grins in Bin’s face, supressing a cough, and squeezes past him towards a little door, almost blending into the pine-clad wall.

The shared bathroom out in the freezing hallway is not an ideal arrangement but Bin doesn’t mind. The rent on his room in the chalet is dirt cheep and one gets used to pretty much anything after three years.

He adjusts the straps on his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, ‘Make sure you rest, ok?’

Hand on the door handle, Hana turns and pauses for a moment. ‘Thank you for taking my shift this week. I know I could have asked Martin but I feel better when it's you.’

She reaches and brushes Bin’s cheek with her fingertips, almost on autopilot, a fleeting touch.

‘It’s ok,’ Bin’s eyes flutter shut for split of a second. ‘That’s what friends are for.’

He chases away the memory from a long time ago, the whispering breath of things long gone, and smiles at her. ‘Is Jürgen around?’

Hana’s face softens at the mention of her boyfriend. ‘He swapped his shift and is staying with me today.’

‘That’s good. You shouldn’t be alone, you’re not well at all.’

‘And you are thinking and worrying too much. Go,’ she gives his chest a gentle push. ‘You’re gonna be late.’

‘Oh, shit, you’re right! Need to go, bye!’

Hana’s barking laugh is accompanying him as he opens the front door and runs out, into the sky-blue morning.

Outside, the town of Kitzbühel is slowly waking up. Looking down from the balcony that wraps around the whole house, Bin watches the owner of the chalet, Mr Metzler, cleaning his car. The fresh powder that has fallen overnight is untouched still, pristine in the crystal clear air.

‘Grüss Gott,’ Bin greets him cheerfully, making sure he speaks loudly enough as his landlord’s hearing is not the best.

He likes the old man. Mr Metzler, or Moritz, as he insists to be called, doesn’t talk much and generally keeps to himself but is always there when anything in Bin’s or Hana’s little attic rooms needs fixing.

‘Morning, boy,’ Moritz pauses and grunts in Bin’s direction, something akin to a smile transforming his weathered features, if only for a second.

‘Beautiful weather,’ he remarks, looking at the sky. ‘Where are you off to today?’

‘The Hahnenkamm. Just the lower slopes though,’ Bin shouts over the balustrade, then runs down the steep wooden staircase.

‘Finally. It’s no good for all those tourists to trudge all the way up - someone will break their neck up there one day. Finally you’re seeing reason and keeping them foreigners where they belong.’

At the ripe age of eighty-seven, Moritz doesn’t need to pretend anymore. He no longer hides his deep-seated distrust when it comes to swarms of skiers who descend on Kitzbühel every winter. Or maybe he has nothing against them per se; he simply doesn’t trust their skiing abilities enough.

Bin laughs, ‘It’s only this week though. I’m taking over Hana’s beginner group and Martin is having mine. He’s taking them off-piste to the Wilder Kaiser today.’

‘Martin is crazy,’ there is a grudging respect in Moritz’s voice towards the owner of the ski school where Bin works. ‘But I always knew that. And you’re becoming just like him.’

Bin flushes a little at the hidden praise. If the old photos of Moritz he has seen on his rare visits downstairs are anything to go by, the old man had conquered all the local peaks during his heyday. Broad-shouldered and towering over his friends in the pictures, he had the smile of a winner.

After three years in Kitzbühel, hearing that he, Bin, a young nobody from Korea, might be considered one of them - one of the winners - a cosy, warm feeling spreads through his body.

Rising his hand, he gives his landlord a quick salute and sets off, a happy grin on his face.

The walk to the slopes is not too long but it does take him much longer on foot rather then going the last bit on ski. He left them at the Ski Paradise on Friday night, in one of their storerooms, as all members from his group went to the pub after a successful week and invited Bin along. He wasn’t planning on joining them but one of the skiers, Jenna, a tall, dark-haired beauty, had been eyeing him for the whole week and Bin certainly wasn’t about to say no when she smiled at him while saying her goodbyes, all tanned skin and brilliant white teeth, and asked whether he changed his mind and wanted to tag along after all.

Bin smiles to himself as he trudges along a footpath, the low building housing the headquarters of Ski Paradise in sight – although headquarters is a strong word for something looking more like a glorified group of sheds. The memory of Jenna’s arms around his neck, their bodies pressed together amidst the crowd in one of the après-ski bars sends jolts of heat over his body, even after three days.

His life in Kitzbühel is uncomplicated, filled with winter days spend on the slopes and summers working in the local gym as a personal trainer, in between gruelling training sessions for various extreme long-distance running events which attract sponsors and help him to survive off season.

It is a transient life, a simple life; life he has chosen four years ago when, after graduating from high school in Seoul, he escaped the stifling atmosphere of his home - where achievements in sport were not acknowledged and only the academic success counted - and accepted his uncle’s offer to join him in Munich in Germany where his father’s older brother owned a string of academies teaching martial arts.

Bin lasted a year, teaching taekwondo, but his heart was in the mountains, as it always had been, from the moment his parents had bought him his first pair of skis at the age of three.

To confess to his uncle he wanted to move on was easy in a way, much easier than he expected, but Bin couldn’t help but laugh from sheer relief when the older man’s only reaction to his planned move to Austria was to simply wish him good luck and sigh good-naturedly about how he always knew the mountains would steel Bin from him one day.

‘Just don’t get cocky,’ Moon Hyungwoo waggled his finger in Bin’s direction. ‘The mountains are beautiful but they can be deadly. As long as you remember it, you’re going to be fine.’

Bin remembers. Not only his uncle’s words, but also the death of a fellow instructor in an avalanche during his first year in Kitzbühel. The sinking feeling in his gut, the cold clench of fear after hearing the news.

Now, after three years in the picturesque Tyrolean town, he has learned to respect the mountains and fear them. But mountains are the only thing he fears. People, he finds, are much more easily conquered.

He knows the Friday night meant nothing to Jenna; he knows the next day she returned to her life as a young hot-shot lawyer in Vienna, without any promises to keep in touch - and he doesn’t mind. The same way he didn’t mind parting ways with Marco last year, a young doctor from Salzburg, who spent his summer holiday in Kitzbühel training for a marathon.

Love is too small to compete with the mountains, with their majestic, jagged peaks glowing immaculate and white in the morning sunlight, with their dangerous beauty, all consuming and wild. They are Bin’s only love.

He doesn’t need anything else. A little bit of warmth on Friday night is all what he asks for once in a while.

Hana’s face flashes in front of his eyes but he pushes the image out of his mind and marches resolutely towards the main entrance of Ski Paradise, where a tall, wiry, thirty-something man is standing in the doorway, nursing a steamy mug of coffee.

‘Morning, Martin,’ Bin leans against the wall, shaking the snow off his boots.

‘Hey, Casanova,’ Martin winks at him from underneath a pair of bushy eyebrows. ‘How was Friday night?’

‘A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,’ Bin grins back defiantly, enjoying the way his boss’ tanned skin creases in laughter lines around his eyes.

‘Oh, please,’ Martin rolls his eyes. ‘I’ve known you for three years. Don’t pull the gentleman card on me now.’

‘Why?’ Bin feigns hurt. ‘I respect my elders and open the doors for ladies. And I don’t gossip. Therefore, I am a gentleman. Are you pissed at me because you’re envious?’

‘Oh, shut up and get ready,’ Martin drains the remnants of his coffee and turns to leave. ‘This week’s list is in my office.’

‘Thanks,’ Bin follows his boss inside, their snow boots squeaking on the bare linoleum floor.

‘No, thank you.’ Martin turns to face him, the mockery in his voice suddenly gone. ‘How’s Hana?’

‘Not great. Fever, awful cough. I couldn’t stand listening to her barking yesterday. She would have been useless at work this week.’

‘Thank you for stepping in to cover for her. You are a good friend.’

Bin shrugs, his cheeks growing hot, ‘It’s ok, I don’t mind. And I’m not going to crawl back mid-week, complaining I’m bored; I promise. As long as you take good care of my lot.’

Bin doesn’t usually teach beginner groups anymore; after three years in Kitzbühel, he has finally graduated from little kids and middle-aged Britons to being a guide. Now, he can do what he really loves - taking groups of skiers off-piste for more ‘advanced’ experience.

This week is a favour for Hana who is their resident teacher for beginners - not because she can't do better but because she likes it. Her patient nature and a dry sense of humour make her the most sought-after instructor amongst the hesitant newbies. Bin, unlike her, doesn’t exactly relishes the thought of explaining to a group of 6-year olds how to do a snowplough - but Bin would do anything for people he loves.

‘I might swap with you towards the end of the week; I can see you growing twitchy by Thursday. And thanks again,’ Martin nods his head in dismissal, puts the empty mug in the sink in their tiny kitchen and heads for the shed where their ski equipment is stored.

Bin opens the door to a crammed little office and grabs the list of names that waits for him on Martin’s desk. He scans the dates of birth, not bothering with the names. Mostly middle-aged and, surprisingly, a couple of them around his age. No kiddies this time, the Christmas school break is over. He smiles contentedly. This will be an easy week; pleasant, not demanding, less overtime, less muscle ache every night. He might have time to go shopping after work this week, like a normal person. Who knows, it might be a good thing to coast for a bit.

Clutching the sheet of paper in his hand, he heads outside, a noticeable spring in his step.

………………

The man walking towards him is beautiful.

Not handsome, not simply good-looking, but ethereal in a slightly unreal way - tall, his face stunning, pale skin immaculate in a way that looks absurdly out of place in a busy ski resort, where ‘the more tan the better’ is the rule.

Bin exhales and tries to compose himself. Staring wouldn’t do right now – so unprofessional.

He consults his list again. All names on it are pretty standard German-sounding ones, with couple of English surnames thrown in for good measure - apart from one Dongmin Lee.

And this man, standing now almost in front of him, is definitely Korean.

Bin is suddenly painfully aware of his own skin, tanned after months of working outside, nose peeling slightly after the last week’s sunburn.

Serves me right, he thinks furiously, for forgetting my sun cream. By now, I should know better than that.

However, there is no time to dwell on details like his tanned face and sweaty hair because the impossibly beautiful boy – Bin knows from his list that Dongmin is only ten months older than him - is too close now, eyeing him with a brittle, nervous smile.

Ignoring the wild thumping in his chest, Bin waves cheerfully and stretches out his hand, ‘Hi! You must be Dongmin. I’m Bin, welcome to Ski Paradise.’

The beautiful eyes blink a little, as if awaking from a dream, ‘Hi. Uhm, yes, I am. Lee Dongmin, I mean. Nice to meet you.’

His German is accented but cute and Bin makes a mental note of asking him later whether he speaks Korean or whether he would prefer to switch to English.

‘Nice to meet you, Dongmin.’

The long fingers in Bin’s hand are icy and he squeezes them briefly while giving Dongmin his best reassuring grin. ‘So, have you ever skied before?’

Dongmin’s uncertain smile widens, like sun breaking through the clouds, making him look years younger.

’Nope. Never. And you should know I’m hopeless. I’m going to make your life this week an utter hell.’

Bin laughs out loud and after a second of stunned silence Dongmin joins him a little hesitantly.

‘Don’t worry. I promise that after this week you will be able to pretend you can ski.’

Dongmin’s smile grows endearingly grateful and Bin winks at him before he turns away to greet the rest of the group, which is gathering slowly near the main entrance.

The warm feeling in his chest spreads through his whole body. He hasn't expected much from this week, not much at all apart from easy, slightly monotonous days, dragging a little bit more than his usual working week. And maybe a nice home-cooked dinner from Hana at some point in the future, as a token of gratitude.

But right now, the week ahead of him looks much more promising.

It must be karma.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dongmin**

‘The main thing is not to be scared.’

_I will kill Niko tonight. I swear I will._

Killing Niko is a good plan. It is a mission that gives him strength to get through this humiliation but doesn’t help with the immediate task at hand.

Which is to slide down a slope on a pair of skis.

Dongmin listens to Bin’s speech but his eyes are wandering, following the random skiers that are whooshing past them – colourful blobs whizzing down the slope, elegant and assured, occasionally spraying them with a fine mist of snow as they take a sharp turn.

The sky is a brilliant blue and the snow is almost blinding in its early morning glory but right now, Dongmin is utterly unresponsive to its beauty.

‘If today is your first time skiing, you will probably spend quite a lot of time with your bottom on the ground.’

A bout of unsure laughter follows. Dongmin eyes the rest of the group a little wearily. It’s hard to tell who will be the most lame of them all but he fervently hopes it won’t be him. Skiing is not something that has ever featured high on his agenda but Dongmin likes to be perfect at everything he does. 

The dark feeling that today might be THAT day when he will definitely NOT be perfect at all is making his stomach shrink.

Their group is a patchwork affair, consisting of one middle-aged couple, two older ladies that are clearly good friends and keep cracking jokes, one rather portly man of indeterminable age and two young girls that have been sneaking glances in Dongmin’s direction since they met earlier this morning.

Dongmin tears his gaze away from his fellow skiers and focuses back on Bin’s voice.

‘So if you feel yourself falling, don’t resist, just go with it.’

Something in Bin’s eyes makes him want to do well. To make an effort. Not to embarrass himself in front of this boy who must be his age - as far as Dongmin can tell – but seems the embodiment of cool, the epitome of effortless, making it all look so easy.

Suddenly Dongmin wants to impress. He straightens a little and starts paying attention.

‘The first thing everyone needs to learn is a snow plough.’

……………….…………

‘How do you feel?’

He lingers around after the lesson, unsure a little what to do. Everybody has dispersed quickly – although the two English girls, Georgie and Ella, have hovered a little, clearly hoping for a chance to speak to Dongmin or Bin.

The sun is blinding now, warming the air and he enjoys the soft rays stroking his face.

Daniel and Niko are not back yet, although they promised they would meet him here at one, after his lesson has finished, and they would go for lunch together.

‘I’m ok,’ he smiles into Bin’s eyes as he pulls down the zipper on his ski jacket, trying to cool down.

‘You've been doing really well,’ Bin says warmly and Dongmin feels an absurd surge of pride.

‘Sorry it wasn’t Hana, my colleague, today. This is her class and she is much better at explaining things. But she came down with fever yesterday and I’m covering for her for the rest of the week.’

Dongmin shrugs, trying to hide the excitement about Bin staying for the whole week. ‘These things happen. And you’ve explained everything perfectly.’

Bin’s face in front of him lights up like one of the Christmas trees Dongmin saw in many windows in Salzburg last month.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, right?’

‘Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Dongmin decides that killing Niko might get postponed, after all.

……….………………..

Back in town and walking through the Vorderstadt - the historical quarter - feels like being transported straight into a fairytale. Dongmin is used to the slightly more imposing Salzburg, with its baroque churches strewn all around the medieval city and the Hohensalzburg Fortress looming above the Altstadt, the Old Town.

Kitzbühel, on the other hand, doesn’t try to intimidate. With its brightly coloured medieval houses and quaint cobbled streets, the town seems welcoming and pleasant, as if smiling at him a little shyly - look, aren’t I cute – the windows with their wooden shutters thrown wide open winking at him in a friendly welcome.

The snowfall from last night dusted the roofs with a fresh layer. The shopkeepers have cleared the pavements and heaps of snow are now lining the narrows streets. Dongmin can't resist scooping a couple of handfuls and flinging them at Niko and Daniel when they are not looking.

‘Hey!’ Niko artfully dodges one of Dongmin’s missiles and retaliates immediately with a massive snowball. Only a disapproving stare from an old lady who is passing by prevents a full-blown snowball fight.

‘How did it go?’ Daniel shakes off a handful of snow that has landed in his hair.

‘It was ok.’

How man times have you fallen on your ass?’

‘Many.’

Niko chuckles, good-naturedly, and flings more snow at both of them.

………………….

After lunch, he insists on going back to the hotel, saying he needs to revise for a test and practise. His friends don’t protest too much, feeling probably a little relieved they don’t need to babysit the skiing virgin, now that his first lesson has finished and he could – heaven forbid – be let loose on the piste.

They quickly part ways, Niko and Daniel going back for another couple of hours of skiing and Dongmin marching hurriedly away, towards the hotel.

For a reason unclear even to himself, he feels close to tears. Even the picturesque, medieval streets of the old city can't distract him from feeling homesick. Why should he feel it now, after three months in Austria, he is not quite sure – but the loneliness is almost choking him as he reaches the hotel, hurries in and smiles a little hesitantly at the young receptionist.

‘ _Hallo_ , I’m in room 14,’ he stammers, suddenly unsure how to phrase what he wants.

_Will I be a nuisance?_

But the urge is too much and he composes himself and starts anew.

‘I’m here with Niko Winkler and was told that we could use the piano in the big dining room in the afternoons?’

‘Ah,’ the girl beams suddenly, a flash of comprehension on her pleasant face. ‘Of course, Mr Winkler has mentioned that. Please, feel free,’ she points to a big glass door to her right. ‘The dinner starts at six, you should have plenty of time.’

‘Thank you,’ he gives a small bow, then straightens a little embarrassed, remembering he is not in Seoul.

He walks away with a spring in his steps. In his head, he is already feeling the smoothness of the piano keys under his fingers, the hint of gentle resistance when he presses them, before they yield and sink down, releasing the sound unlocked within.

The double glass door gives in with a gentle creak as he swings it open, eagerly.

The dining room is pleasant, with wide windows along the far wall and the still bright sunlight streaming in, reflected in sparkling glasses, standing like soldiers on tables, and on the black polished upright piano in the corner.

The rom is also occupied.

‘Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…’ Dongmin freezes as a young guy looks up from where he is standing in front of a big dresser, pulling open one of the drawers.

For a moment they stare at each other but the young man recovers quickly _. ‘Kann ich Ihnen helfen?’_

He flashes Dongmin a brilliant smile, all perfect teeth and dimples in his tanned cheeks. Dongmin eyes the black curly hair framing his handsome face and vaguely wonders if the guy is Austrian at all.

‘No, no… I don’t need any help,’ he stutters a little, unsure how to explain his presence somewhere where he is probably not supposed to be.

‘The dinner is at six,’ the stranger supplies helpfully, as he hefts a big, flat basket full of cutlery, moves towards the fable and carries on with laying the tables.

‘Oh – I was told I could practice piano here. I’m friend of Niko. Niko Winkler. I’m sorry, I didn’t know…’

‘Ah, I see. It’s ok, I know; we were told. Don’t let me stop you,’ he smiles and motions vaguely towards the piano.

Dongmin lingers, slightly mortified by the encounter, also not sure he wants to start playing while having an audience.

Instead of making a move, he stares mesmerised at the waiter’s practiced movements – every piece of cutlery placed the exact same distance from the edge of the table, perfectly equidistant from each other.

‘You ok?’

The young man smiles at Dongmin’s fascinated expression but doesn’t stop moving. On one of the dinner chairs is a pile of cream-coloured napkins and he picks one up and starts folding it, swiftly and precisely. In a matter of moments a swan emerges and he places it gently on one of the plates.

‘Wow,’ breaths Dongmin. ‘That’s… art.’

His companion looks up and laughs. ‘Not really, just practice.’

‘I guess it’s the same with playing piano.’

‘No,’ the young man laughs again. ‘I would never be able to do that.’

Dongmin smiles at the handsome face. ‘You would. You said it yourself, it’s just practice.’

The waiter reddens a little, as if remembering he has work to do, and returns to the pile of napkins.

‘Please, don’t mind me,’ he points at the piano hastily. ‘I will be ready here in a minute.’

Somehow the chat loosened Dongmin a little and he doesn’t feel under scrutiny anymore. He approaches the piano, brushes the closed lid with his fingertips. The piano stool is old, the velvet cushion worn and the colour faded, but he pulls it out eagerly and sits down.

He opens the lid and strokes the keys. The relief that floods his body when his fingers slide over the ivories is so palpable, it almost hurts.

This is his home and it has nothing to do with geography.

The sound of Yiruma’s ‘The River Flows in You’ fills the room and two wet splodges drop on the keys. He doesn’t stop and after a while the tight feeling in his chest subsides.

From Yiruma he seamlessly switches to Einaudi, playing his favourite piece from long way back when he was a teenager in Seoul, practicing for hours behind a battered Yamaha at home.

He is in no mood for Mozart, although he has been living and breathing him since he came to Austria last October, starting his one year in Salzburg to study the giant of Austrian classical music.

Today, he can't handle Mozart’s frilly exuberance and joy. Today he wants to make himself cry a little, to relieve the bittersweet tug in his chest that’s choking him, making it hard to breathe.

He plunges into Chopin, not going for the most obvious Op.9 No.2 but chooses No.1 instead, the music rippling gently - calm and soothing yet melancholic enough for the moment, not grating the soul.

‘That was beautiful.’

He whirls around.

The young waiter has finished - all swans are now gracefully craning their necks in the same direction – and he is leaning against the dresser, the remaining napkins forgotten in his hands.

‘Mr Winkler mentioned that there will be music students staying with us this week and that they shall have a free access to the piano but I didn’t realise… Wow.’

He leaves the words hanging.

Dongmin squirms a tad uncomfortably. The praise that he is usually showered with after his performances – he is used to that. This time, the empty room, the stranger’s handsome face - the intimacy of it all - makes it almost too much.

Hastily, he closes the lid and gets up.

‘Please, if you see Mr Winkler, do tell him I am very grateful.’

He smiles at the young waiter one more time before slipping out of the room, not paying attention to anybody on his way upstairs to his room.

…………………………….

After six, he skips down the stairs, feeling hungry and a little antsy after almost two hours of studying. Niko and Daniel are nowhere to be seen but he knows they will emerge shortly, summoned by hunger, and sure enough, a couple of minutes later they both appear and lower themselves on the heavy wooden chairs, greedily inhaling the aroma of food wafting around.

They are in no hurry and leisurely enjoy their _Kalbsbraten_ with roast potatoes and _Apfelstrudel_ for desert.

After dinner, bellies pleasantly full, they drag themselves up the stairs.

‘We are going out in about an hour,’ Niko turns to Dongmin, just before they all return back to their rooms. ‘You wanna come?’

‘Nah,’ Dongmin ducks his head a little. ‘I’m too knackered. I’ll revise a little and go to sleep.’

‘Oh, come on,’ whines Niko. ‘I know it’s exam season but I bet you have spent the whole Christmas break studying. One night is not gonna kill you.’

‘I’m good, honestly,’ insists Dongmin, hand on the doorknob already. ‘You guys, go.’

Daniel doesn’t press him, clearly eager to go, merely grins. ‘Tomorrow, you will be coming, man, no more excuses.’

Niko looks guilty about not being able to persuade him but Dongmin pre-empties it with a yawn and cheerful ‘Have fun!’ and disappears in his room.

Feeling almost sloshy, he takes out couple of textbooks, plops on the bed and tries to focus on revision. Very soon however, the tiredness starts catching up with him and he shoves the books away and crawls under the covers.

Tomorrow, he’ll see Bin again.

………………………….

_‘Prost!’_

_‘Prost!’_

The beer glasses clink and Dongmin takes a sip with a grateful groan. It’s Wednesday and his muscles ache in protest after three days on the slopes. Deep tiredness is settling in his bones but it’s tiredness that feels good; the nice kind. Contentedly, he leans against the bar and lets his eyes wonder across the pub, one that Niko insisted was worth going to for good music and cheaper beer – not the touristy places, guys, this is a gem, like, THE place to go, if you know what I mean, all the cool people will be there.

Dongmin doesn’t exactly care. His plan for the night is having a couple of drinks, then head back to the hotel and fall into bed.

The air around them is thick with music, laughter and loud shouts to order more beer. Dongmin has no idea how any of the bartenders cope with the chaos but they somehow do, flitting from one end of the counter to another, filling up glasses at top speed and sometimes simply scribbling the tally on a coaster placed in front of the older locals who look like they come every day, instead of asking for money after every round.

‘I can't believe we are leaving in two days,’ Daniel sighs wistfully.

‘This is so good,’ Niko downs almost the whole glass in one go. ‘Even the beer tastes nicer here. God, I don’t want to go back.’

Dongmin shares the sentiment and for a while, he simply sits there, savouring the soon-to-be-gone moments – soaking in the buzz of the place, enjoying the bitter taste of lager on his tongue and the pleasant heaviness of his tired limbs.

Out of the corner of his eye, however, he spots a familiar figure peeling away from a group of tanned, healthy-looking, most likely locals.

‘Hi!’ Bin waves at him, a beer glass in his hand. ‘Dongmin!’

Dongmin feels Daniel and Niko watching him with interest but he ignores their raised eyebrows and waves back, smiling.

‘Who’s that?’ Daniel gives his ribs a subtle poke.

‘My skiing instructor,’ Dongmin hopes the dim light hides his heated cheeks as he slides off the bar stool. ‘I’ll see you later, guys, ok?’

‘Hey! Are you not gonna introduce us?’

The fake indignation in Daniel’s voice doesn’t mean anything good and Dongmin’s cheeks burn as he pretends not to hear him. In your dreams, he thinks stubbornly and walks resolutely away, towards Bin whose grin is so wide he could be in an advert for toothpaste.

‘Hi!’

‘Hi!’

It’s a strange feeling. There is he, the boys who Dongmin thinks is the coolest person on earth – but he seems strangely… nervous.

‘Thanks for today,’ Dongmin smiles hesitantly. His head swims a bit after several beers, the floaty kind of feeling when everything is a bit lighter, colours more bright and cheerful.

More beautiful.

Bin shrugs, shyly. ‘It was nothing. I’m just doing my job.’

‘That’s not true!’ Dongmin shakes his head eagerly. ‘Its only Wednesday and I'm beginning to feel I'm not completely hopeless, you know?’

Bin’s face brightens.‘ That’s good! And you’re doing really well. How are you feeling though? It’s Wednesday; they say the third days is always the worst – for the muscles I mean.’

‘It’s ok,’ he chuckles, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘You know, dying inside and all that. Putting on a brave front.’

They both laugh at that and the ice is broken.

‘So, what brought you to Kitzbühel?’ Bin sets his glass on the counter and steps closer, an unspoken message that he wants to stay.

Dongmin shrugs, reddening a little. ‘Skiing?’

Bin’s laughter is breathy, free; like a child not really caring about impressing anyone.

Dongmin feels mildly offended, ‘Why are you laughing?’

‘Because you are the worst liar in the world.’

‘Am I so bad at skiing?’

‘No,’ Bin takes a deep swig from his beer and leans even closer. They are so close their noses are almost touching and Dongmin feels the puff of Bin’s breath on his cheeks. He smells of beer and mint and sun cream, and Dongmin fights the urge to touch Bin’s face where the skin stretches, taut and golden, over his cheekbones.

‘You are my best student,’ Bin’s finger jabs his chest briefly, eyes crinkled with hilarity, ‘but your heart is not in it.’

He grabs Dongmin’s shoulders, gives him a tiny shake. ‘Where is the passion, Dongmin? Don’t you like it? The wind on your face when you’re whizzing down, the spray of snow when you do a sharp turn? The whiteness, the freedom?’

Dongmin hopes he is not blushing like an idiot. Bin’s face is so close he could kiss him if he wanted. He flinches away at the sudden thought, terrified of his own mind.

Bin misreads the sudden movement and lets go, clearly embarrassed at having invaded Dongmin’s personal space.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles quietly, avoiding Dongmin’s eyes.

Dongmin misses their closeness the moment Bin pulls away and is tempted to lean back, towards that warmth and golden skin, but restrains himself.

‘It’s ok,’ he smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way and gives a light shrug, trying desperately to keep things light.

Bin seems to relax again and after a brief pause, his eyes brighten with mischief.

‘Do you want to come with me tomorrow night? Evening skiing, just for fun? Some of the slopes are lit after dark. No instructions and following orders, just fun.’

The thought of having Bin to himself for the whole evening sends a jolt of pleasure through Dongmin’s body.

He smiles shyly into Bin’s eager, expectant eyes. ‘Ok.’

Bin laughs out loud and holds out his palm. ‘Deal!’

Cringing slightly, Dongmin high-fives him and turns away to have a gulp to cover his flushed cheeks. His head is starting to swim more and he is not sure whether he should blame the beer or Bin.

He sets the empty glass down. ‘I should probably go otherwise you’re gonna kill me tomorrow.’

‘I’ll go too.’ Bin eagerly drains his glass and Dongmin tries really hard not to show how glad he is Bin is coming with him.

‘I’m just gonna say bye to my friends. They are not going yet.’

Judging from his brief glance in Niko’s direction, his friends will be in no mood to leave just yet; he is dead certain about it and it makes him secretly pleased – he doesn’t want to share Bin on his way back to the hotel.

They walk over to where Niko is laughing at something a pretty girl with long ginger hair is telling him. Daniel is sipping at his beer, standing a little aside, scanning the room.

He spots them first.

Dongmin is determined to keep the exchange short.

‘Hey,’ he waves at Daniel. ‘I think I’m gonna head back. You guys stay, it’s no problem.’

He feels Daniel’s gaze on Bin.

‘Uhm, this is Bin, my skiing instructor.’

Daniel’s scrutiny feels like its burning Dongmin’s skin but Bin comes to the rescue with the practised ease of someone who is used to navigate social minefields of any kind.

Smiling, he shakes Daniel’s hand and Dongmin notices with satisfaction how Daniel gawks a little at the way Bin’s biceps bulge under his black turtleneck.

Daniel smirks. ‘So, how is our rookie skier doing?’

Dongmin startles a little at the slightly patronising tone.

Next to him, Bin tenses but doesn’t miss a beat. ‘He is great, actually. Natural talent. I'm glad he is my group; rookies like him make my job a dream – wish I would meet more of them.’

He turns to Dongmin with a soft smile. ‘Shall we go?’

Giving Daniel a quick wave, Dongmin turns and starts squeezing his way towards the exit.

‘What was that about?’ Bin asks, the tone suddenly dark, following Dongmin closely.

Dongmin frowns. 'What?’

‘Your friend. He seems like a bit of an asshole.’

‘Oh.’ Dongmin reddens. ‘He can be like that… sometimes. The other one, Niko, is much nicer but they are best friends so I have ended up being friends with him, sort of by default.’

‘I don’t like him,’ Bin mumbles grimly, looking at his feet.

‘It doesn’t matter, Bin. He is not here now. Let’s go.’

Bin is stalling, as if contemplating whether to go back and beat Daniel up but after a tense moment his face softens and he smiles.

‘You are right, let’s go.’

Near the front door, Bin plucks his skis out of a row of them piled up in the corner.

‘Had some paperwork to do this afternoon,’ he shrugs as a way of explanation. ‘Didn’t have a chance to go home after work.’

‘Is it not gonna be too heavy?’

The moment the words leave his mouth, Dongmin feels like an utter idiot.

Bin merely smiles, ‘I’m used to it,’ and opens the heavy front door.

Outside, he hefts the skis on his shoulder in a swift, practised motion. ‘Let’s go.’

Together, they walk out into the inky night.

The freezing air hits Dongmin like a stone wall but after a moment he collects himself and tries his best to walk in a straight line.

The snow crunches under their feet as they walk in silence. After couple of minutes, they turn into a quiet side road. Mr Winkler’s hotel is right in front of them and Dongmin slows down. The building is quiet, the windows with dark green shutters like eyes, dim with sleep.

Bin drops his skis and sticks them in the heap of snow next to the short flight of stairs leading to the front door. The streetlamp above their heads is like a giant orange, casting dramatic shadows over Bin’s face.

Dongmin wants to say something but finds himself staring, all thoughts scattering like leaves in a gust of wind.

‘So why have you decided to come here? For real?’

Bin’s soft voice breaks the silence, almost as if on purpose, and Dongmin blushes and looks away.

‘I am a foreign exchange student. I study music in Salzburg and Daniel and Nikko were sort of assigned to look after me at the beginning.’

He keeps his gaze averted, afraid of making a fool of himself. Bin has to endure enough besotted gaping from the girls during the day. No need to make him uncomfortable now.

He swallows hard and tries to get a grip on himself.

‘The three of us still hang out sometimes. When Niko and Dan came back from Christmas break, they realised I had been alone in Salzburg the whole time and asked me if I wanted to join them here this week. It’s like a tradition I think; Niko’s uncle owns this hotel and doesn’t have any children – so Niko and his friends are always welcome here.’

Bin frowns a little. ‘Why didn’t you go home for Christmas? I mean it’s not such a big thing in Korea but you could have?’

Dongmin finally looks up and shrugs, trying hard to keep it together. ‘The flights would have been too expensive.’

‘Oh.’

Bin’s features gentle and Dongmin finds himself brisling inwardly. He doesn’t need Bin’s pity.

‘It’s ok. I have so much to do – exams, piano practice…’

‘You play piano?’

As if by a swish of a magic wand, the mood changes. Bin’s voice sounds curious, almost breathless, and Dongmin laughs, feeling self-conscious. ‘Yes. Well, I mean I study music so… I do. And violin – but I have been neglecting violin quite a lot since I’ve been here.’

‘Wow.’

Bin looks awed and Dongmin smiles a little, chest swelling. He is grateful for something that, for the first time this week, is making him look at least a tiny bit impressive in Bin’s eyes.

‘I’m nervous now.’ Bin flashes him a shy smile.

‘Why?’

‘What if you fall and, I don’t know, dislocate your finger?’

‘Didn’t you say that I was your best student?’

‘Fair enough,’ Bin ducks his head and kicks the snow at his feet. ‘But be careful, ok?’

The warm feeling in his chest spreads as he gazes in Bin’s eyes that suddenly seem huge. Huge and bright and very, very close.

He staggers a little, unsettled by his own body that seems to be betraying him and pulls him towards the warmth of Bin’s face.

Bin giggles and steadies him with a firm grip on his arm. ‘Careful there.’

‘I… I should probably go,’ he squeezes out, careful not to lean into the touch but dying to at the same time.

Bin keeps giggling as he spins him around and starts showing him up the stairs, hands on Dongmin’s back.

‘Yes, you should, otherwise you gonna be completely lame tomorrow and will be falling on your butt the whole time.’

He gives Dongmin’s backside a slap and jumps aside with a squeal as Dongmin whirls around and tries to return it, without much success.

‘What was that for?’ Dongmin huffs indignantly.

‘I don’t know,’ Bin grins at him, retreating down the stairs, back into the light of the streetlamp.

Dongmin longs to run after Bin but fears that he would probably kill himself on the stairs. After the spin, he now feels the alcohol hitting him full force and he reaches behind his back, grabbing the door handle to steady himself.

‘I’ll get you tomorrow, I swear,’ he pants a little breathlessly, leaning with his back against the door.

Under the orange pool of light, the planes of Bin’s face are sharpened, the shadows emphasising his cheekbones. It is starting to snow and a couple of stray snowflakes have settled in his hair.

Beautiful.

‘Oh, please do,’ Bin smirks at him and Dongmin’s breath hitches a little. Then the front door swings open under his weight, and he staggers in, almost breaking his neck in the process.

Bin’s laugh follows him all the way in, the sound pulling at something deep down in the pit of his stomach.

Tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Bin**

The shrill sound of his alarm slices through Bin’s brain like a meat cleaver.

He groans and rolls over, not sure what is worse – the pounding behind his eyes or a nagging feeling that something is wrong. That he has messed up somehow.

Pressing his face into the pillow, he lingers for a bit, hoping that the tightness in his chest subsides – but it’s a lost battle because as the fog in his head clears, the realisation dawns on him with alarming speed and clarity.

Dongmin.

He groans again, the humiliation twisting his insides, as he recalls the events from the night before.

He slapped Dongmin’s butt yesterday.

And possibly flirted with him – sort of.

And laughed at him when he fell through the door, instead of helping him.

Bin rolls over on his back and blinks at the ceiling, dreading the day ahead.

How is he going to look Dongmin in the eye?

………………………..

In the cable car that connects Kitzbühel with the Hahnnekamm slopes, he keeps his head down and fervently wishes the cabin would just fall off the cable and took him to a swift death in the void underneath. Unfortunately, his wish remaining unfulfilled, he arrives at the ski resort in one piece and way too fast for his liking.

He drags his feet towards Ski Paradise and hopes for nobody to be inside. The last thing he wishes for is to make small talk with Martin or another instructor, temples still pounding and embarrassment twisting his guts into a knot.

At the door he dumps his skis in the snow, not even pretending to care. For the first time in months, he doesn’t want to be here in the morning.

The hut is mercifully empty - Martin’s group must have departed already, judging by his boss’s unwashed coffee mug in the sink – and Bin hastily stoves his backpack away, changes into the ski boots before any of the other instructors come in, and heads outside.

Just before he opens the door - hand on the handle already - he pauses.

If he goes outside and Dongmin is the first one to arrive, he will be alone with him.

The thought makes him break into a cold sweat.

For an agonising minute, he stands still in the cramped little hallway and stares ahead, wishing the lino under his feet would open and the earth would swallow him whole.

Because no matter what he does, the fact is he fucked up yesterday and now he will have to face it.

He either goes out into the blinding morning sunshine and Dongmin will be there already, looking at him with disgust, thinking Bin a drunken flirt who stared at him creepily yesterday and smacked his ass - or he will not look at Bin at all and ignore him completely. Which is probably worse.

Bin – although atheist at heart - breathes a quick prayer to St Ilga, the local saint whom all the elderly grandmas in town love and admire – and yanks the door open.

Much to his relief, the luck - or St Ilga – doesn’t desert him and Dongmin is amongst the last people to arrive. Bin is already engrossed in an animated conversation with Mrs Straubing, a cheerful tiny woman in her seventies, and her best friend, a very tall, imposing lady, whom everyone calls Anneke.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bin watches Dongmin’s slightly hunched shoulders and hopes that he is not the reason why Dongmin looks downright miserable this morning.

The whole lesson is a blur.

Even with the awkwardness tightening his chest, Bin does his best to forget the way Dongmin’s face looked yesterday, eyes creased in laughter, apples of his cheeks flushed a little, beautiful under the glow of the streetlamp.

He can't do this now so he suppresses the urge to stare at Dongmin and carries on as if nothing happened the night before.

The fresh air and blinding sunshine – they have been incredibly lucky this week, when it comes to weather – makes it easy to pretend everything is fine as the whole group, apart from Dongmin, seems to be in a cheerful mood.

Bin plays along, glad for the infectious merriment. He jokes with everybody, encouraging all to try their best. The mood is light; after four days, everyone feels more confident and the time passes quickly.

Amidst the tumbles, jokes and the occasional snowball, Bin makes sure he doesn’t avoid Dongmin – first of all, it would be unprofessional, second, it’s a fool proof way of testing the waters.

Surely he won’t ignore me completely, he thinks anxiously - even if he is mad at me? I'm his instructor.

Dongmin - sweet soul as he is - doesn’t, in fact, ignore him. He is impeccably polite, follows Bin’s advice and all the instructions – but his gaze doesn’t linger on Bin one second longer than absolutely necessary.

Bin slowly deflates. Any hope he might have harboured at the beginning of the lesson, when he saw Dongmin was not completely avoiding him, dissipates quickly at the sight of the other’s new polite indifference.

After they finish – the last ten minutes having dragged almost agonisingly slow – Bin feels himself exhale.

One more day tomorrow and he won’t need to see Dongmin ever again. Never again to look at his beautiful face, knowing how badly he screwed up.

He can't wait for everyone to leave; he itches to run inside and hide in the hut, brew some of the awful coffee they have in the kitchen, eat his sandwich – ironically, even with his pounding head he didn’t forget today – and welcome his afternoon group.

‘Hi.’

Startled, he looks up, straight into Dongmin’s eyes.

The face in front of him is flushed, most likely from the whole morning on the slopes – but there is something bashful in Dongmin’s look, something that makes him to cast his eyes down and look at the tips of Bin’s ski boots, instead of his face.

‘You ok?’

‘I’m fine.’ Dongmin’s whisper is barely audible, and Bin forgets about his own misery in the face of Dongmin obvious discomfort.

‘Bin, I… I’m sorry about yesterday.’

The words tumble out, almost too fast, almost indiscernible - Dongmin still not looking up – but Bin sags with relief so great, it almost makes his knees buckle.

Is Dongmin _apologising_ to him? Is Dongmin apologising to _him_?

Bin is not quite sure what brought that on but, logically, it must mean one thing.

Dongmin is not mad at him.

‘I don’t usually drink that much during the week,’ Dongmin sounds genuinely in pain. ‘I don’t know what you think of me now… after yesterday night, and me falling over like… oh god…. And I’m sorry that I was so slow today. My head was still hurting in the morning and…. I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s ok,’ Bin interrupts him hastily, his mood rising as a feather. ‘I really don’t mind. If you want to know, at the beginning this morning, my head was pounding too – and that’s way more unprofessional.’

For the first time this morning, Dongmin looks him in the eye in a way that feels real and Bin almost laughs with relief.

‘If you pretend you know nothing about me coming to teach you all with a hangover, I will forget about your pounding head this morning. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ Dongmin’s face lights up.

An awkward pause ensues, sun blinding the snow around them and somehow making the silence louder.

‘I should probably go,’ Dongmin casts him a shy glance.

He starts shuffling towards the hut, head down, not mad at him anymore but still quiet, still not really talking to him and Bin’s heart seizes in panic.

He only has one day left and then Dongmin will be gone, gone from snowy Kitzbühel slopes and gone from his life.

It’s now or never.

He catches up with Dongmin and clears his throat. ‘About tonight, what we talked about yesterday – not sure if you still up for it…. You don’t need to come, of course… ‘

Dongmin stops and looks up, his eyes suddenly brighter than the sun above. ‘I want to.’

………………………………

‘I’m nervous.’

They are looking down, having just gotten off the ski lift. Below them in the distance, Kizbühel looks like a pulsating jewel dropped onto a swath of dark velvet, the orange lights of streetlamps and cars punctuating the darkness of the valley in front of them.

Bin has chosen one of the gentle slopes, a beginners’ favourite – but judging by Dongmin’s expression, they could be standing on top of Mount Everest.

He cast Dongmin a sideway glance, offering what he hopes is his best reassuring smile.

‘Why? You should be fine here, the slope where you’ve been learning this week is roughly the same level of difficulty.’

‘I know,’ Dongmin ducks his head, ‘but now you will be looking at me all the time. There is nobody else here.’

‘I always look at you anyway.’

Dongmin gives him a sharp look and Bin cringes inwardly.

_Why am I trying to flirt with him again? He will think I’m a total creep._

‘I always see everyone when I teach,’ he retracts hastily. ‘I have an exceptional peripheral vision.’

Dongmin stares at him for couple of seconds, then starts laughing. Bin exhales shakily.

_Nice save._

‘Anyway, you don’t need to worry. I’m not here to teach you. We’re just gonna have fun.’

They eye the snow in front of them, illuminated by strong lights and looking almost yellow in the glare, the sky above them inky.

People around are paying them no heed. They are getting off the lift, friends shouting at each other in encouragement, teenagers squealing while trying to overtake one another.

‘Shall we go?’ Bin gives Dongmin a gently poke in the arm. ‘Just stay close to me and try to remember what I taught you, ok?’

He can see Dongmin bracing himself. ‘Ok.’

They set off at a gentle pace. Dongmin is not a bad skier at all; Bin has to give him that. After only four days, he could pass for someone with much more experience, even if his stance is still a tiny bit tense, the speed a little cautious.

Bin watches Dongmin from the corner of his eye, while staying on his side, trying to match Dongmin’s turns. It’s a strangely satisfying feeling, the almost synchronised skiing, the beauty of it – the feel of achievement when his whole focus is on the person next to him instead of himself and when he manages a perfectly identical turn.

The slope suddenly feels too short and he has to hide his impatience to go again as they brake to a halt at the bottom, Dongmin finishing with a little wobble but managing to stave off a fall.

He can see Dongmin’s excitement mirroring his when their eyes meet. ‘That was fun!’

The second time round, Dongmin relaxes and lets go, allowing himself to speed up a little. Bin swells with pride.

‘You did well,’ he smiles at him when they finish and Dongmin’s face flushes pink from extortion and the praise.

‘When you go down this time, stop thinking too much. You have a good posture; you’re angling your body towards the slope in just the right way. When you go faster, you simply have to exaggerate everything what you’re doing – but I have a feeling you will do it anyway, that it will come naturally. Just let go. Stop thinking.’

Dongmin nods at him a little shakily. ‘Alright, I’ll try. But you go first this time. I want to watch you.’

Bin reddens a little. ‘Now you are making _me_ nervous.’

Dongmin smirks. ‘Come on, teacher. You have been watching me for almost a week – now you have to show me how it’s done properly.’

‘Phew,’ Bin takes a deep, exaggerated breath. ‘Ok, I’d better go before I get really scared. Don’t judge too much, ok?’

‘I won’t; I’m sure you will be amazing,’ Dongmin smiles at him. ’Go.’

For the first time in years, Bin feels nervous on the piste. He can feel Dongmin’s eyes on his back and he suddenly wants to impress.

For the first time in his life, he couldn’t care less about the freedom, the gust of wind in his face, the split of a second of weightlessness down in the pit of his stomach when he takes a sharp turn.

He only wants Dongmin to keep looking at him.

Taking his time, he starts with an exaggerated flourish, wiggling his butt and throwing Dongmin one more look over his shoulder. The sound of Dongmin’s laughter behind him warms his heart.

At the bottom of the slope, he finishes with a quick, sharp carve, sending a fine spray of snow in the air as he brakes, and looks up. Dongmin should be following closely behind and he almost expects the bright red of his scarf to flash right next to him.

But Dongmin is nowhere to be seen.

Bin’s heart almost stops as he scans the skiers whooshing down and joining the queue for the lift, trying to find Dongmin among them, with no success.

Finally, after an agonising couple of minutes, he spots a familiar figure and starts waving frantically, almost sagging with relief.

Dongmin sees him and heads in his direction, carefully stopping in front of him, all smiling eyes and rosy cheeks.

‘Are you ok?’

Dongmin laughs out loud. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Somewhere halfway through I forgot to turn early enough and ended up on my bum near the edge. Got stuck in the deep snow. Took me a while to untangle my legs.’

Bin exhales and promises to himself that he will stay on Dongmin’s side the next time round.

‘You idiot,’ he chides gently. ‘You could have broken your leg. Always leave yourself enough time to turn, don’t just –‘

‘I know, I will,’ Dongmin gives him a reassuring pat on his arm.

Bin wants to suggest joining the queue for the lift, when someone grinds sharply to a halt right next to them.

‘Hey, Dongmin!’

If the evening has been going smoothly up to this point, Bin suddenly feels as if the rug was being snatched from under his feet.

‘Hey, Franko,’ he smiles without much enthusiasm.

‘Hi, Bin. How are you?’ Franko smiles back, dimples flashing, but his eyes turn to Dongmin right after the cursory greeting. ‘You alright?’

Dongmin ignores the question and beams at Bin instead. ‘You two know each other? That’s so great! Franko and I met at the hotel this week; he works there over the holidays. Right now, he helped me when I fell and couldn’t get my ass off the ground.’

Dongmin sounds genuinely pleased and Bin inwardly rolls his eyes at his wholesomeness. He eyes Franko who is smiling at Dongmin as if he was the midday sun in the sky and something in him sours.

How is he going to impress Dongmin now if Franko will be around, charming, easy-going and eloquent - a privileged son from a middle-class family, a student of architecture who only pretends to need the money he is earning here during his winter break?

But he can't behave like a stroppy toddler, not with Dongmin beaming, clearly happy about their encounter.

He turns to Franko, an almost genuine smile plastered on his face. ‘We’re going up again? Do you want to come?’

To his immense relief, Franko shakes his head ruefully. ‘No, I need to go back. I’ve been here for long enough and I’m meeting a couple of friends later. You guys have fun.’

Franko’s words are meant for both of them but his eyes are on Dongmin only. ‘I hope that I can hear you playing one more time before you leave.’

Dongmin ducks his head but Bin can see he is turning pink like cherry blossoms in May and he almost chokes on his own green-eyed spit.

‘See you tomorrow,’ Dongmin smiles shyly and Franko raises a hand in greeting and is off.

Dongmin’s cheeks are flushed as he pulls off his beanie, as if he needed to cool down. ‘Let’s go again!’

Franko doesn’t seem on his mind anymore but Bin is not going to take any chances. He wants Dongmin to have fun, to be laughing with him – and forget about Franko, the handsome boy whose eyes dwelled on Dongmin a little too long for his liking.

Oh no, he will make sure _he_ is the one Dongmin has the most fun with.

When they reach the top, he turns to Dongmin and grins at him wickedly.

‘Time for some more advanced stuff.’

‘What do you mean,’ Dongmin feigns horror but Bin can see he is supressing a laugh.

‘You’ll see.’

Without warning, he plasters himself on Dongmin’s back, his ski bracketing Dongmin’s. He holds his poles in one hand while wrapping his left arm around Dongmin’s waist.

Dongmin squeals. ‘What are you doing? I'm not skiing like this; you’re gonna kill us.’

Bin laughs into the fabric of Dongmin’s ski jacket, holding him close. ‘No, no, it’s _you_ who is going to kill us – I can't see anything. You will have to lead - it’s all gonna be on you.’

‘Let go off me!’ whines Dongmin but makes no move to disentangle himself from Bin’s grip.

‘Nope,’ giggles Bin. ‘Come on, show me what you’ve got. Show me your real talent.’

‘But I can't turn like this!’

‘That’s true,’ Bin shakes with laughter, ‘you can't. This is how parents teach their little kids; they clamp them between their legs and they go together. You need to be slow and precise; every time you need to change direction you need to tell me - and we will be doing a nice, synchronised plough.’

‘So I’m your imaginary little kid, clamped between your legs,’ huffs Dongmin. ‘That’s just great. You should be leading then; I’m just a baby.’

‘I can’t see anything, we are the same height,’ Bin’s grip on Dongmin’s waist tightens. ‘So this is an adapted version; you need to be in charge.’

‘We’re so going to die!’ Dongmin’s half-laugh, half-whinge makes Bin’s heart soar.

‘Stop moaning and give me your poles.’

Before Dongmin has time to protest, Bin lets go off him briefly and takes away Dongmin’s poles, transferring them into his right hand. He clasps Dongmin’s waist again.

‘Now move.’

‘How?’ wails Dongmin and Bin starts laughing again.

‘The V-shape, remember? You said you can ice-skate; I can't believe your brain is going into shutdown just because I'm breathing on your neck.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ grumbles Dongmin but his voice does sound a little out of breath and Bin is glad he is hiding his smile into his ski jacket. ‘I’m going into shutdown because this is skiing suicide.’

‘No, this is gonna be fun. You just tell me what to do - left, right, left, right - and I will be moving my skis in synchro with yours. Once we get going and you need to turn, you say left and we make a careful snowplough to the left. You say right and we go right. Easy as that. You lead. Go.’

Giggling helplessly, Dongmin obeys. He laughs through his first orders, the embarrassment clear in his voice – but Bin doesn’t care. He brings Dongmin’s body close to him and after a moment, the hilarity takes over, Dongmin still laughing but shouting the directions at him and Bin doing his best to follow.

Someway half down the slope they hit a bump and although Bin tries desperately to keep steady, the uneven surface sends them both flying.

They land in an ungraceful heap, still laughing, one of the poles hitting Bin on the head.

‘Oh my god,’ Dongmin groans and tries in vain to untangle his legs, before collapsing in a fit of hilarity again.

‘Wait,’ Bin rubs his forehead and carefully pulls himself up. ‘Align your skis – not down the slope, for fuck’s sake, they gonna run from underneath you – now give me your hand.’

He helps Dongmin up. ‘You ok?’

Dongmin’s face is red, shaking with laughter. ’I’m fine. But I haven’t signed up for this. You are crazy.’

‘Shall we go again?’

‘No!’ Dongmin’s eyes widen in fake horror. ‘I’m rather attached to my limbs; I want to get back with all of them still intact.’

For a moment, they look into each other’s eyes, still chuckling. Bin wants to drown in the brightness of Dongmin’s smile.

‘Let’s go back then.’

……………………………

On the way back to town, they have the cable car cabin to themselves, a rare treat in a busy ski resort.

Dongmin leans back comfortably, stretching his legs. ‘I can’t believe it’s my last day tomorrow.’

The skin of his cheeks is flushed with warmth, the damp hair plastered to his forehead. Bin needs to sit on his hands not to run his fingers through it.

‘Did you enjoy this week?’

Out of nowhere, Dongmin opens his eyes, looking straight at Bin. ‘I did. Did you?’

Bin’s face heats up.

_Is Dongmin flirting with him?_

‘I mean,’ Dongmin shrugs, ‘you said that you do something else usually. That you don’t teach beginners anymore, you know.’

‘Ah,’ Bin’s heart unclenches, in a disappointed sort of way.

Of course, Dongmin is not flirting with him.

‘No,’ he forces himself to smile. ‘It was quite nice, actually. I usually take people off-piste. The most advanced groups.’

‘Wow,’ Dongmin breathes in awe, then deflates a little. ‘I guess this his week must have been pretty boring then.’

‘No, no! I had fun!’

Bin hopes his ears are not bright red and thinks frantically how to stir the conversation somewhere else. The explanation why he loved working this week – should Dongmin ask – would be beyond embarrassing.

‘I really enjoyed it and I’m glad Hana could have some time off. All the instructors - we always try to help each other. When someone needs it.’

‘How is she?’

Thanking the providence that Dongmin is such a polite, well brought-up person, Bin breathes a sigh of relief that their talk is moving on from how Bin enjoyed the past week a little more than he perhaps should have.

‘Oh, much better. She was actually whining that she wanted to go back to work today. I said no,’ he giggles a little at the memory.

The words, spoken out loud, give him an idea and his heart starts thumping so wildly, he almost feels faint.

Now or never.

This is his last opportunity to do something before Dongmin slips out of his life tomorrow – or before Franko gains an unfair advantage, bumping into Dongmin in the morning and aims that dimpled smile of his on Dongmin. Bin inwardly curses Franko’s mother, an Italian, who – even in her fifties – is still a stunning woman and who clearly passed her beauty genes onto her son.

No, Bin can't allow Franko to be the one who will talk to Dongmin tomorrow. He can picture it already – the charming smiles, the talk that comes so easily to all those kids of doctors and lawyers who have been on holidays abroad and to museums and galleries, who go to university and can talk art and music and politics – Bin can see in his head how Franko will impress Dongmin with his knowledge of architecture and music and Dongmin will melt under that megawatt Franko smile.

A particularly horrifying idea makes him break in a cold sweat. As someone who works in the hotel, what if Franko decides to bring Dongmin breakfast in bed? As a special treat on his last day? He would probably get into trouble for it afterwards but Bin knows, if he himself had the opportunity, he _would_ do it. It would be absolutely worth it.

No, no, no. He will not allow that to happen.

Despite his resolve, it takes him a good fifteen minutes to brace himself to speak.

They are walking quietly, the lights of Dongmin’s hotel already in sight, when he summons the courage to open his mouth.

‘Do you want to hang out tomorrow? I mean – you could skip the lesson and we could go somewhere together.

His heart is beating so loudly, he can swear Dongmin can hear it but he forces himself to keep his voice steady.

Dongmin slows down and eyes him in confusion. ‘Don’t you need to work?’

‘It’s my day off tomorrow,’ he lies and prays that he can pull it off. ‘Hana is coming back.’

Dongmin fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. ‘I don’t know. It feels rude – not to show up.’

‘Just leave a message tomorrow morning that you’re not feeling well. Pulled a muscle, have a cough – it doesn’t matter. You are the customer, you have paid for it, you can do whatever you want.’

Dongmin smiles – slowly, hesitantly.

‘Come on,’ pleads Bin. ‘Have you never bunked off school?’

‘No,’ Dongmin slowly shakes his head. ‘I was always too scared.’

‘And now?’ Bin laughs incredulously. ‘I’ve never been to university but everybody seem to be having fun and missing lectures and generally don’t give a fuck.’

The slightest hint of pink appearing on Dongmin’s cheeks looks so pretty Bin wants to touch it – but he refrains. Dongmin doesn’t looks like he would be in the right frame of mind for an out-of-the-blue advance, not with the sudden fire in his eyes.

‘I can't afford to miss lectures and not give a fuck here,’ he pierces Bin with an earnest look. ‘This is an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I need to make the most of it. I will never be able to come here again and study with the greatest Mozart experts walking the earth right now. You know that some of my professors are really famous? And they are teaching me! Do you know how big this is? Why would I want to skip that?’

He looks almost breathless, and Bin swallows any retort he had at the ready in the face of passion and determination he can recognise.

He hangs his head a little and swallows uneasily. He will not – will not – look like a little kid who cries when something doesn’t go his way. ‘It’s ok. Forget about it.’

‘But I guess this is not school.’ Dongmin ducks his head, his smile endearingly shy.

Bin’s hope soars high but he doesn’t dare to speak should Dongmin change his mind.

‘I guess I could do that,’ whispers Dongmin.

They have reached the hotel’s main entrance and Bin stops and takes a deep breath.’ I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Is nine ok? Or is it too early?’

He feels like a moron. Does he look like he is too eager?

‘No, it’s fine.’

Dongmin is looking at his feet, the long eyelashes hiding his gaze, but Dongmin can see he is smiling. ‘Nine is fine.’

…….…………………………

Having run the whole way home, he is wheezing and almost doubling over as he knocks on Hana’s door.

‘Hi!’

Hana’s face is pink and smooth, the colour of her cheeks back to healthy again.

Bin composes himself, calms his breath down. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m absolutely fine. As if this week never happened.’

‘That’s… that’s really great.’

Hana smiles, then eyes him up and down a little unsure. ‘You ok?’

Suddenly aware of the late hour, he draws a shuddery breath.

_Let this work. Please._

‘I know it’s quite late but… Could you do me a massive favour?’


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a very long break, here I am, writing about snow again, while looking at cherry blossoms outside...

****

**Dongmin**

‘Where are we going?’

‘Not telling you, it’s a surprise.’

In the bright, crisp morning light, the streets of Kitzbühel are busy with people looking forward to another day outdoors; there is an abundance of little kids running around, with their bright bobble hats and high-pitched voices, and the elderly are getting ready, armed with walking sticks and sturdy shoes.

Bin leads the way, away from the stream of holidaymakers hauling their ski boots and snowboards into the cars or heading for the cable car on foot. He rounds the corner. The side street is quieter, the little cafes opening now, the big windows tempting with displays of cakes and people sitting at tables sipping coffee and hot chocolate.

Bin stops in front of a tiny bakery and grins at Dongmin. ‘Time to get some supplies.’

He bounces up the front steps and yanks the door open. The old-fashioned bell above their heads rattles, and from behind the counter, a sweet, warm smell of fresh bread, cakes and coffee wafts outside.

An elderly lady lifts up her head and the smile on her face reminds Dongmin of his grandmother.

_‘Grüss Gott, Frau Schmidt.’_

_‘Grüss Gott, Schatzi,’_ the woman’s eyes are warm. She wipes her arms on her apron. “What can I get you today? I haven’t seen you in a while.’

She calls him ‘treasure.’ Dongmin’s heart does a somersault and he tries very hard to blend into the wall because he can feel his cheeks reddening.

Meanwhile, Bin chats happily to the old lady. They gossip about people they both know and he listens to her complaining about her husband’s health, seemingly in no hurry to leave. Mrs Schmidt is basking in his attention, hands on her hips, her considerable bosom heaving as she laughs at his remarks. Dongmin’s German is good enough but he struggles with the local dialect and is happy to watch Bin’s face, animated and giggly, as he listens to Mrs Schmidt recounting some scandal involving the neighbouring village bowling club.

Once the local gossip is concluded, Bin scans the selection, scratching his neck, stalling. For Dongmin, the choice is overwhelming. Squashed together on long wooden shelves behind the counter are big dark loaves dusted with flour, small thin ones covered in sunflower seeds, crusty white baguettes, and, of course, big piles of Semmel and Kipferln – the crescent-shaped and round bread rolls even Dongmin knows by now.

Mrs Schmidt smiles at his hesitation and gives him a conspiratory wink. ‘I have _buchteln_ fresh from the oven. Would you like some?’

Bin’s face lights up. ‘Yes, please.’

He looks like a schoolboy being offered a lollipop and Mrs Schmidt, looking very pleased with herself, disappears at the back.

Dongmin has no idea what that particular delicacy might be. He might have been in Salzburg for three months but he came to Austria to study music, not to sample the local cuisine. So far he has lived mainly off fast food and any instant noodles he could find in the local supermarket – they all taste equally horrible so he is resigned to forget about his taste buds until he is back home. Now he is watching with interest as Mrs Schmidt brings something that looks like buns dusted with sugar, tightly packed on a big tray.

‘How many would you like? They are still a little warm; Ilse was just about to bring them out. The first batch sold out by seven this morning.’

‘Because they are the best.’ Bin leans over the counter and inhales deeply and Mrs Schmidt beams at the praise.

A young girl emerges from behind the beaded curtain that separates the shop from the bakery. She is carrying another tray and slides it under the glass counter to be displayed amongst other glistening little cakes and buns, filled with poppy seeds, fruit, jam – some twisted, some round, all shapes and sizes - and Dongmin’s mouth begins to water.

‘ _Hallo_ , Ilse,’ Bin smiles at the girl and Dongmin notices her rosy cheeks growing even more pink. She is tall, with long legs and high cheekbones, her blonde hair swept in a ponytail.

‘ _Hallo_ ,’ she whispers shyly and her gaze flickers away for a second, then back to Bin. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘Could we have two coffees on the go, please?’

At the sound of ‘we,’ Dongmin’ stomach flips and he looks up from the cakes, straight into Ilse’s stare.

‘Oh, this is Dongmin.’ Bin’s arm winds up around his shoulder and Dongmin fears his blush might rival Ilse’s. ‘He is from Seoul and is studying music in Salzburg.’

 _‘Ach, wie schön, ein Musiker,’_ Mrs Schmidt beams. ‘A musician. Is this your first time in Kitzbühel?’

Dongmin nods and smiles, incapable of anything more, too aware of Bin’s arm around him and Ilse’s curious look.

‘Well then,’ Mrs Schmidt interrupts the slightly awkward silence and points at the tray while Ilse turns away hurriedly, busying herself with the espresso machine. ‘How many, _mein Schatz?’_

‘Could we have six, please?’

Mrs Schmidt gets a paper bag and packs the rolls with practised ease, while Ilse hands him two coffees over the counter.

Beaming, Bin grabs the bag and waits patiently for Mrs Schmidt to swipe his card.

Dongmin, wanting to be helpful, shuffles forward and grabs the coffee.

 _‘Danke schön,’_ he manages, acutely aware of his thick accent.

Mrs Schmidt’s smile illuminates her round, rosy-cheeked face. ‘Enjoy your time in Kitzbühel!’

‘He will!’ laughs Bin and gives Dongmin a nudge to stop him staring at the cakes in the display cabinet. ‘We can come back later and buy some more; now let’s go.’

Ilse’s eyes are following them both all the way to the door.

…………………………

Once outside, Dongmin lifts the bag. ‘Buchteln, what are they?’

Bin smiles enthusiastically. ‘They are sweet bread rolls, filled with jam. Frau Schmidt makes the best ones. She fills them with this really thick plum jam – ah! Heaven!’

Bin’s eyes are dreamy and Dongmin laughs at his expression.

‘Stop it!’ Bin pokes him in the ribs. ‘Wait until you taste them.’

‘Can I have one now?’ Dongmin opens the bag and peers inside. The warm, sweet scent makes his mouth water.

‘No!’ Bin gasps indignantly and swiftly takes the temptation out of Dongmin’s hands. ‘Drink your coffee and don’t be greedy. We will eat them when we get there. Now we need to walk to mine; I left the car there.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To have a picnic.’ Bin closes the paper bag again while maintaining the same brisk pace.

Dongmin tries not to tail behind. ‘A picnic? In winter?’

‘Do you want to wait for summer?’ Bin’s grin is infectious and Dongmin laughs out loud, the absurdity of their exchange hitting him all of a sudden.

The walk to Bin’s chalet doesn’t take long and, and without too much faffing, Bin pulls a car key out of his pocket. ‘We don’t need to go in. I’ve got everything in the car already.’

Dongmin eyes the picturesque chalet with its pretty wooden shutters and a balcony wrapped around the whole house, the pavement in front swept neatly, and wonders vaguely whether Bin lives on his own.

He doesn’t have much time to ponder the issue of possible roommates - or a potential girlfriend – because Bin heads straight for the narrow driveway next to the house where a battered Toyota is parked alongside an older Mercedes. He unlocks the car, opens the back door and stuffs the paper bag into a backpack resting on the back seat. He motions for Dongmin to get in. ‘Let’s go.’

The inside of Bin’s car is a mess of discarded gloves, water bottles and random pieces of ski clothing. There is a big woollen blanket folded neatly on the back seat next to the backpack.

‘Is it far?’

Dongmin buckles up and gulps down a little nervously. The small, cramped space somehow intensifies Bin’s presence and he stares at the road ahead, trying desperately to act as if he did it every day, getting into a car with a hot almost-stranger, feeling not nervous but breathlessly excited.

‘No, not really.’

The road is getting steeper, the shop fronts giving way to little _pensions_ and chalets, lining the streets. The road traffic thins out after a while and while still not deserted, Dongmin has a feeling that for the first time this week, he has left the touristy town centre and is seeing real life.

‘I’m sorry, we will have to drive for a bit, to get out of town.’

‘I don’t mind,’ shrugs Dongmin. He is way too excited to be with Bin, it doesn’t really matter where they’re going.

The serpentines of the narrow road in front of them are becoming sharper, more treacherous, and Dongmin gulps a little uneasily as he watches how the steering wheel slides in Bin’s hands. Bin, however, talks happily about this and that, tripping over his own words, laughing, and Dongmin relaxes a little after realising that he will probably not land them in a ditch after all.

‘We are here.’ Bin pulls into a car park near a rather modern hotel, looking oddly out of place after all the picturesque rustic beauty Dongmin got used to seeing.

‘Is it ok to park here?’ Dongmin eyes a sign announcing that parking is for hotel guests only but Bin laughs.

‘Yes, it is. I know the owner. Come.’

‘Are you sure?’ Dongmin hesitantly follows Bin out of the car.

‘Yeah, I’m sure. Stop worrying, Kitzbühel is just a big village; people know each other here. Besides, we will be back before most of the guests come back at the end of the day.’

Dongmin shakes his head and stops talking. They follow a path alongside the road for a while, then Bin turns right onto an inconspicuous side road that trails up the hill.

‘Come on, Mr Musician,’ smirks Bin. ‘Out of breath?’

‘Shut up,’ Dongmin smirks back but there is certainly a grain of truth in Bin’s teasing and Dongmin does his best to match Bin’s fast pace as they follow the road, the cottages lining it getting sparser until the last gardens and driveways give way to tall fir trees.

It is a strangely liberating feeling – not to be talking, focusing on the rhythm of their breathing instead. The landscape around them is quiet, as if the snow drowned out the sounds and left the world peaceful but strangely suspended in waiting - maybe for spring, wonders Dongmin vaguely.

The asphalt on the road ends abruptly only a couple of minutes after they passed the last house – its surface now covered in a hard layer of snow.

Bin notices Dongmin’s unease and slows down. He wraps his arm around Dongmin’s shoulders. ‘All is going according to plan. Stop looking like I'm a murderer luring you into your death.’

‘Even if you were,’ huffs Dongmin, ‘how would I know?’

‘You wouldn’t,’ Bin giggles, his voice delightfully close. ‘I could be making you walk until you drop dead and your body will be found in spring when the snow thaws.’

‘Now that’s just morbid.’

‘Still happy to walk with me?”

‘Oh, shut up and tell me where we’re going.’ Dongmin pulls down the zip on his jacket. The sun is shining and he is starting to sweat.

‘I’ve told you already, we’re gonna have a picnic.’

‘A picnic in the snow?’

‘Keep walking, you’ll see.’

The road peters out until it becomes a narrow path. The woods around them grow denser, as if they were trying to encroach on their space, as if they were creeping closer to obscure the blue skies, leaving only a little bit of sunlight filtering through. The overhanging branches are heavy with fresh snow fallen overnight. Bin pulls at one of them and laughs when Dongmin squeals and jumps back, barely escaping the heavy load that lands on the ground with a ‘whoosh.’ At the sound of Bin’s laugh, Dongmin’s stomach does a somersault and he watches Bin shaking the branch harder, sending a mist of snow in the air. The fine spray covers them both in sparkling diamonds. Tiny snowflakes caught on Bin’s eyelashes glitter in the dappled sunlight and, for a moment, Dongmin feels like he has met an elven prince from a fairy tale.

After the hilarity has subsided a little, Bin turns around with a grin.’ Let’s go, one shower for the day is enough.’

Dongmin snorts with laughter - trying not to stare too much - and follows behind, trying to keep up.

Higher up, the fir trees thin out again, letting the sunshine through, to warm their skin and blind their sight.

Dongmin slows down, thinking they might have reached their destination. The clearing looks like an ideal spot for a picnic, sunny, sheltered, the trees forming a protective semi-circle, open on one side with a beautiful view of the valley.

‘Are we there yet?’ Dongmin whines mockingly, tugging at Bin’s sleeve.

Bin chuckles and pulls his hand away. ‘Well, sort of. We’ll come back here, this is the spot – but we need to take a detour to get some water.’

Dongmin stares, slightly gobsmacked. ‘What about that water bottle that’s hanging off your backpack? The one that I was, you know, staring at while walking all the way up here?’

‘It’s empty,’ Bin’s words are slow, precise, as if talking to a toddler, but Dongmin can see he is suppressing a laugh, ‘because we’re gonna get some water now.’

‘What’s wrong with water from the tap?’

‘Nothing, nothing at all. Just keep walking. This way.’

Dongmin huffs and follows Bin down a narrow path, snow crunching under their feet.

He notices that, somewhat counterproductively, that the path is leading them downhill again, deeper into the woods. There is less snow under the dense canopy of ancient firs, the ground under their feet patches of frozen muddy brown amongst the whiteness.

The air is strangely still, the sounds filtering through the trees softer, muted.

‘Where are we going?’

Bin motions with his hand, not really slowing down. ‘I told you, to get water. Come on.’

Dongmin huffs a little impatiently, ‘Yeah, I have heard that.’

Bin’s giggle is sweet, appeasing. ‘There is a mountain spring maybe five minutes’ walk from here. St. Ilga’s. Named after a local saint who lived here in the 11thcentury. This is insider knowledge, you know – not the touristy stuff. According to the local legend, the water is healing.’

‘Wow,’ Dongmin rolls his eyes a little. ‘Do people still believe in such things?’

‘You would be surprised,’ Bin shoots him a grin over his shoulder. ‘Older people around here do, so I wouldn’t mention the name around the locals if you want to make fun of her. But if you ask respectfully they will feed you the whole story, miracles and all of it.’

After that, Dongmin keeps his mouth respectfully shut – not quite sure whether to count Bin as a local – and follows him silently down the steep path, slippery in places with sludge from a thaw a couple of days ago has frozen back into a hard, treacherous surface.

‘Careful.’

In front of them, a fallen tree is barring their way, the trunk having fallen across the path. Dongmin stares at the snapped jagged edges of the stump pointing towards heaven like a pained cry.

‘What happened here?’

‘Had a storm maybe a month ago,’ Bin shrugs as if snowstorms were something he gets served at breakfast. ‘Will take a while to get rid of all the damage.’

They both climb over the trunk, Dongmin desperately trying not to be too clumsy. No need to look like a complete fool.

After another couple of minutes of brisk walk, Bin points at something in front of them. ‘We are here.’

Dongmin catches up with Bin as he stops in front of a rather unimposing stone structure, looking a little like a tombstone, its wall smooth and grey, almost blending in with the bark of the trees surrounding it.

Water is gushing from a short pipe sticking out from the wall, cascading into a small stone sink at the bottom.

Two enamel cups on a short chain dangle from a sturdy metal hook, hammered into the side.

‘Try it.’

Dongmin tears his eyes away from a tiny waterfall that is leaving the sink through another pipe and flows into a little stream right next to it, the water rushing down towards the valley, eager to grow bigger, stronger.

‘Hey, Dongmin. Have a drink.’

Wearily, Dongmin turns and eyes the cups. They both look a little grimy and he doesn’t fancy the idea of drinking out of them. He smiles instead and waits patiently for Bin to unpack the water bottle but he seems to be in no hurry, choosing to catch water into his cupped hands and splashing his face instead.

‘It’s supposed to be good for the eyesight. Come on.’

Gingerly, Dongmin lets the water pour into his cupped hands. It’s freezing cold and he hisses a little as he takes a gulp.

‘God, my hands will get numb.’

Next to him, Bin laughs and leans towards the pipe. He fills his cupped hands.

‘Here. Drink.’

Reddening, Dongmin touches Bin’s palms and brings them closer to his mouth. The gesture feels oddly intimate and despite the frosty air, his cheeks heat up.

He takes a hurried gulp and lets go. ‘Thanks.’

Bin doesn’t seem in a hurry to move back. He watches Dongmin with a little smile, not doing anything – but doing enough to make Dongmin’s ears feel like they are ablaze.

_‘Grüss Gott!’_

A cheerful voice behind his back almost makes Dongmin jump out of his skin.

He turns around.

A middle-aged couple, both carrying walking sticks, is approaching them. The husband is holding a bottle.

Bin recovers quickly. He greets them politely and gestures for them to go first, which they refuse and, after a short, embarrassing exchange, Bin hurriedly fills his water bottle and they both depart, Dongmin still dying inside from mortification.

Had they not been interrupted, would he have kissed Bin?

Marching quickly, eyes on the back of Bin’s red ski jacket, Dongmin doesn’t trust himself anymore.

………………………..

They return to the clearing they have passed before and Bin takes out a blanket from his backpack.

‘Won’t it get wet?’ Dongmin eyes the woollen fabric.

‘Nah,’ Bin shakes his head. ‘It has like a plastic layer on the other side.’

He turns the corner and shows Dongmin the underside, then spreads it out carefully in a nice, sheltered spot with a perfect view.

‘Time to eat.’

He motions from Dongmin to sit down and starts pulling things out of his backpack – sliced salami and cheese, a small loaf of bread, a massive pack of crisps, some apples and the paper bag with _buchteln_ which Dongmin immediately reaches for.

Bin giggles and slaps his hand. ‘Eat your greens first – have your mum not taught you that?’

Dongmin grins. ‘There are no greens as far as I can see – and besides, I was always naughty and never saved my sweets; I always ate them straightaway.’

‘Naughty,’ Bin grins back but doesn’t protest when Dongmin pulls one bun from the paper bag and bites in.

His teeth sink into the soft dough and he groans in appreciation. ‘That’s so good.’

‘Told you.’ Bin looks very pleased with himself, grinning like a Cheshire cat, watching Dongmin licking his lips to savour the last bit of jam. He laughs and brushes Dongmin mouth, wiping away the icing sugar that has settled on his upper lip.

‘You have a white moustache.’

Dongmin wants to grab those fingers, to hold them in his hand – but he refrains.

Would Bin laugh at him? And pull his hand away, explaining that he didn’t feel _that_ way?

So he reaches into the paper bag instead and smirks at Bin’s exasperated expression.

‘I can’t help it; they are too good,’ he shrugs.

Bin sighs and pulls a thermos out of his backpack. ‘Here. Have some coffee – since you have started with the dessert.’

He pours Dongmin a cup and fishes another one from one of the numerous side pockets.

‘I’d better have some too, before you eat them all,’ he smirks.

After the buns are gone, they demolish the rest of the food in quick succession.

‘That was great,’ Dongmin rubs his belly and falls back onto the blanket. He spread his arms, tilting his face up, towards the sun. The warmth seeps into his skin and makes him drowsy.

Bin flops on his back next to him and for a while, they do nothing, soaking up the sun.

‘What are you going to do when you get back to Salzburg?’

Bin’s voice interrupts the silence and Dongmin jerks awake, realising that he must have dozed off.

Embarrassed, he sits up, shuddering a little. The sun is still high, the shadows have not moved much; he is relieved that he didn’t sleep for too long.

Next to him, Bin sits up too. ‘I wasn’t sure whether you were awake or not,’ he smiles shyly.

‘It was the food; it made me sleepy,’ Dongmin ducks his head.

‘That’s ok.’

In the awkward silence that follows, Bin pulls off one of his gloves with his teeth and scoops up the tiniest amount of snow. He grabs Dongmin’s hand and tips the snow into his palm.

‘Look. Each one is unique; did you know that?’

Dongmin huffs. ‘We get snow in Korea, you know that, right?’

Bin doesn’t let go of his wrist. ‘But have you ever looked at it? Like properly looked at it?’

Dongmin thinks long and hard but finds he doesn’t remember.

Like a cluster of diamonds fused together, the snowflakes glitter in his hand, the black of his glove like a cushion for the most precious jewels.

Only for kings.

Suddenly, Dongmin wants to touch, to feel. He bites into the finger of his glove, copying Bin, yanking it off his hand impatiently. Carefully, he tips the tiny heap into the palm of his hand.

‘You are killing them,’ Bin watches the snow melt and traces the moisture on Dongmin’s palm with his index finger.

Can a hand feel on fire even when it held a cold handful of snow barely seconds ago?

Dongmin stills with his palm mid-air but nothing happens and Bin pulls away with a pleased giggle, sinking back onto the blanket.

‘You are a snowflake murderer,’ Bin peers into the sunshine, wrinkling his nose, ‘Lee Dongmin, you are a dangerous person.’

Dongmin is glad that Bin is not looking at him because he watches Bin’s body sprawled on the blanket, relaxed and so _close_ and it makes his heart ache in an odd way - the same way it aches after finding a beautiful seashell on a beach orseeing a sunset, all blazing oranges and pinks glowing low on the horizon.

He likes being called dangerous - it makes him want to do all the dangerous, daring things he never did in his life.

‘You shouldn’t be alone with me then – if I'm a murderer, it’s not safe.’

‘Don’t worry, I wouldn’t melt in your hands. I guess I’m safe.’

Bin is watching him with a languid smile. Dongmin thinks, not for the first time, that he looks like a cat.

Can cats eat people?

Then Bin laughs and the moment is gone, leaving Dongmin thinking he might have imagined it all.

………………………

By the time they park the car in front of Bin’s cottage, the sun is sinking low.

‘No,’ laughs Bin as Dongmin heads for the main door. ‘Not there. It’s the owners who live downstairs, the Metzlers. We go this way,' he points up.

Dongmin breathes a sigh of relief that there won’t be Bin’s girlfriend – or wife – greeting them at the door, all cosy and domestic.

They climb a wooden staircase leading to the balcony upstairs. Bin is stomping loudly as they walk, trying to get rid of the snow, and Dongmin follows suit.

The heavy wooden door at the back of the house looks old, like something out of a fairy tale. The hinges creak loudly as Bin opens it.

‘Take your shoes off, otherwise we’ll end up with a puddle in the hallway.’

Bin takes off his boots and whacks them against each other a couple of times to get rid of the snow. When satisfied with the results, he steps in and places them neatly on a small rug in the corner.

‘Come in.’

Shoes in his hand, Dongmin pads in his socks behind Bin.

The hallway is tiny, cladding of pine wood smells cosy and warm. There is a row of shoes under a simple coat rack stuffed with ski jackets and coats. Dongmin notices one of them is dark pink.

Bin nods toward the door on the right, ‘My housemates, Hana and Jürgen,’ and opens an identical door on his left.

The room is not big but the soft pink sunset behind the windowpanes is making it eerily pretty; a double bed pushed against a wall, a blue patchwork quilt thrown hastily over it, a small kitchenette in the opposite corner, a little bar with two old-fashioned stools jutting out. I bowl of apples sits on it, their red skin glowing in the last rays of sunshine.

Under the window a small desk is covered in stacks of paper, a laptop balanced precariously on top.

A plain wooden shelf above the bed houses rows of books, in German, Korean and English, and a rather sizeable collection of manga.

‘Do you want some tea?’

Dongmin rubs his hands, red from cold despite the gloves he has worn during the day. A thought of a mug of hot tea sounds tempting. ‘Yeah, thanks.’

Bin fills the kettle and pulls two mugs out of the cupboard.

To kill the time, Dongmin looks at framed photographs on the walls, some of them of Bin and his friends, most of them snowy landscapes and, what most fascinates Dongmin, several beautifully executed close-ups of snowflakes.

‘These are great,’ he remarks, just to keep the conversation going.

‘Thanks. I just like taking pictures. Sit down,’ Bin waves his hand vaguely towards the bed that, by the looks of it, doubles as a couch.

Dongmin barely sits down, when there is a knock on the door.

‘Oh,’ Bin frowns. ‘I… Let me just…’

He gestures vaguely towards the door and Dongmin smiles a little awkwardly. ‘It’s ok.’

Bin puts the kettle down and goes to open the door. Dongmin can't see who’s there but judging by the female voice, it must be Hana, Bin’s neighbour.

_‘Hallo Süßer, wie fühlst du dich? Hast du Hunger? Jürgen macht Goulasch mit Spetzler; willst du mal später rüberkommen und mit uns essen?’_

Dongmin tries to shrink into himself on the bed and hopes that Bin will politely decline the invitation for dinner, goulash or no goulash. The thought of conversing with strangers right now, never mind how nice they must be, is filling him with dread.

He also wants to have Bin to himself tonight, although he refuses to analyse precisely why.

The exchange is, thank goodness, mercifully brief, Hana asking Bin whether he feels better and he reassuring her he does – although why should he say that is a mystery to Dongmin who can't say he detected any signs of Bin feeling unwell the whole day, quite the opposite.

Bin thanks Hana politely for the offered dinner – maybe another time, say hi to Jürgen for me – but then he shifts his weight from foot to foot to scratch his back and Dongmin finds himself staring right into Hana’s eyes over Bin’s shoulder.

An agonisingly long second passes before he pulls himself together and gives her a tiny wave and an embarrassed smile.

‘Oh. Hi,’ Hana’s features are frozen in surprise for a split of a second but she composes herself quickly and waves back.

 _‘Ach, ist ja klar,’_ she grins at Bin, her face transformed by a cheeky smile. _‘Ich gehe jetzt. Und ich muss sagen, deine Migräne ist wunderschön.’_

She throws Dongmin one more meaningful smile, turns with a chuckle and disappears quickly in her room.

Bin closes the door quietly, hesitating before he turns slowly to face Dongmin.

‘What was that about?’

‘I… Well, Hana was sort of inviting me over for dinne-‘

‘Not that bit,’ Dongmin interrupts him impatiently. ‘I did understand that, my German is not that rubbish. I mean the bit about your migraine being beautiful.’

Bin’s ears glow red.

He scratches his neck. ‘You know how I said yesterday that today was my day off?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, I lied.’ Bin’s eyes are avoiding his. ‘I told Hana I wasn’t feeling well, that I was having a migraine – I get them sometimes – and she was happy to get back one day earlier. She has been feeling well since Wednesday and was nagging me about wanting to go back anyway,’ he adds hastily, probably noticing Dongmin’s slightly shocked expression.

‘Is Hana…? Are you together?’

The question is out before he can help it.

He dreads to hear a simple yes – he is hoping, my God he is hoping for a laugh and a no – but Bin’s ears turn pink and he suddenly looks very focused on making the tea.

‘When I came to Kitzbühel I was really homesick at first and Hana helped me a lot. She was already an experienced instructor; she took me under her wing, she found me this room – I don’t know what I would have done without her.’

His back is turned and Dongmin has a feeling he is stalling. The only sound is the soft clink of a spoon against the mugs as he stirs in the sugar.

‘One night I run out of something - maybe milk, I don’t really remember anymore – and knocked on her door. She invited me in, we got talking. We talked for hours and… Well, you know…’ he finishes with an embarrassed shrug of his shoulders.

Dongmin tries really hard not to picture Hana’s slim, petite body naked in Bin’s arms but doesn’t quite succeed and the ugly, jealous feeling deep down in his gut almost shocks him.

‘Are you still… together?’

He remembers there was a mention of a roommate but that could mean nothing.

Bin shuffles towards him, extending one hand with a steaming mug but not really looking at him. ‘No, we are not.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

Dongmin doesn’t know why he feels the need to apologise.

‘It’s ok.’

There is something evasive in the way Bin shakes his head. ‘It was never meant to be, really. Hana was going through some rough patch with her boyfriend; they were on a break – and I was new in Kitzbühel and really lonely. It only lasted for a couple of months, then she and Jürgen got back together.’

Bin’s voice wobbles a little and Dongmin hates himself for feeling glad that the pretty, smiley Hana is happily settled in the arms of another man.

Bin sits down on the bed next to Dongmin, pulling his feet underneath him.

‘We stayed close – I couldn’t afford to lose one of my first friends here but since then, I didn’t really feel like... dating. There was someone else a year later, a local guy, but that lasted even less.’

Bin lifts up his gaze, as if gauging Dongmin’s reaction, and Dongmin feels something heavy and suffocating rolling off his chest and allowing him to breathe again.

He wants to reach out and stroke Bin’s cheek - to capture that something that sits, fragile and vulnerable, in the corners of Bin’s mouth - but smiles softly instead. ‘But… are you ok now?’

Bin smiles back. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. I have some good friends here now – and when I get homesick I go to Munich and visit my uncle.’

Something tells Dongmin he shouldn’t ask Bin about his parents and he holds his tongue.

They sit in a companionable silence for a while, slurping the hot tea.

‘Do you need to go back soon?’

Bin reaches up and puts the drained cup on the shelf above his head. He is looking ahead, words tumbling out in a hurry. ‘I can walk you back if you want, you don’t need to go alon-‘

‘No,’ says Dongmin simply. ‘I’m not in a hurry.’

It feels the right thing to say - the only thing he wants to say.

Bin’s face lights up. He grabs the remote and settles back on the bed, leaning back.

‘Cool. What do you want to watch?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, St. Ilga's spring does exist but it's not near Kitzbühel. I, hereby, beg all good people of Schwarzenberg for forgiveness for borrowing their local saint for my story.


	5. Chapter 5

****

**Bin**

‘Why did you come here?’

Dongmin is holding a glass of wine and watches Bin cooking dinner. At first, he looked a little unsure when Bin pulled a bottle of red out of the kitchen cupboard and Bin had to admit, reddening with embarrassment, that he had run out of beer the night before and the bottle of Merlot was everything he had at home. Seeing Bin’s mortification, Dongmin must have decided to have mercy on him because, after a short hesitation, he nodded with a little laugh and allowed his glass to be filled.

Now Bin sees the alcohol warming up the apples of Dongmin’s cheeks, making them pink and glowing.

‘You mean Kitzbühel?’

Dongmin nods.

Bin shrugs his shoulders and laughs. ‘Kitzbühel was a massive coincidence. I mean I’ve always loved skiing, that's what I wanted to do since I was little, but the fact that I ended up here was just random. When I was still in Munich I came here - just a skiing trip with some friends - and Martin spotted me outside, trying to teach one of them.’

Dongmin looks at him, eyes eager. ‘And?’

‘Martin is mad,’ Bin chuckles a little embarrassed. ‘He simply watched me for a bit – by then I noticed him and was getting a little creeped out – then he marched over to where we were standing and asked me if I wanted to become an instructor.’

‘No way!’ gasps Dongmin and Bin knows that he is probably blushing but the admiration in Dongmin’s eyes is like being offered an unexpected present, something shiny and brand new.

‘He didn’t tell me that he was absolutely desperate because one member of his crew broke his leg - but that is beside the point.’

Bin strains a big pot of pasta and tips it into a bowl. He pours the tomato sauce over it.

‘That’s how I ended up here. There was more to it than that, of course – I had to hand in my resignation in Munich, had to convince my uncle that Martin was not some sort of a shady character – but, yeah, that’s how I ended up in Kitzbühel. At first, I thought it would be something temporary, just for a little while, silently hoping that if things didn’t work out my uncle would take me back – but three years later, I’m still here.’

Bin takes two plates from the shelf above the sink and rummages in the drawer to find forks. He motions for Dongmin to sit down and puts the steaming bowl of pasta in front of him.

Dongmin looks pleased at the prospect of food but suddenly Bin is ashamed of the simple meal, the lack of side dishes, the absence of anything that would make the occasion special.

‘Sorry I didn’t make something more… Korean,’ he stammers, unsure. ‘I bet you miss it here. But I don’t have much food left at home right now and this was…’

He pauses, embarrassment warming his cheeks. He should have thought this through, he should have planned this better; this was his chance to impress Dongmin and he is probably failing in a spectacular way. How could he not think ahead when he was shopping for the picnic?

But Dongmin merely takes a sip and watches the swaying ruby liquid in his glass for a while. When he looks up, his face is softer around the edges, a hint of smile on his lips.

‘It’s ok. I like pasta.’

With a grateful exhale, Bin slides on the stool next to him.

Maybe all is not lost yet.

They eat in silence at first, the only sound the scraping of forks against the plates. Bin barely dares to glance at Dongmin who, even when eating a slightly overcooked penne from a cheap IKEA plate, looks like a model, completely out of place in his little room.

After opening his mouth several times to start a conversation, Bin takes a big gulp from his glass and plunges straight into what has been scratching uncomfortably at the back of his mind for the last couple of days.

‘You going back to Salzburg tomorrow?’

‘Yeah,’ Dongmin nods, chewing, and his face drops a fraction.

_Ok. Don’t mess it up now. Don’t sound needy._

He tries desperately to keep his face neutral, his tone light.

‘And then? How long are you staying in Austria?’

‘I’m in Salzburg until summer. It’s a one-year exchange – then I'm going back to Seoul.’

Something heavy settles on Bin’s chest and makes his breathing difficult all of a sudden but he does his best to smile.

‘Are you counting days to be back home?’

Dongmin smiles back, although there is something wistful about it. ‘I miss my friends at home – and my family. But I'm really busy here so… I don’t have much time to think about it.’

He twirls the stem of his glass and watches Bin who feels too hot and cold at the same time.

The silence in the room is growing heavier, more tense, and Bin has a sneaking suspicion that if Dongmin listened very carefully, he would be able to hear the wild thumping of his heart.

He gulps and tries to compose himself.

‘More pasta?’

…………………………………..

‘When do you need to go back?’ Bin’s whisper is almost lost in the inky darkness creeping into the room. He doesn’t dare to speak aloud.

He doesn’t want Dongmin to leave.

At some point in the evening - after they had tried all games on Bin’s Nintendo Switch, finished the wine and eaten countless bags of crisps - Dongmin simply leaned his head against Bin’s shoulder and Bin reached out and turned off the light, praying fervently that Dongmin wouldn’t pull away. He didn’t and they stayed that way, in comfortable silence, until the room filled with lengthening shadows.

Bin’s neck is killing him by now but he doesn’t move. He barely breathes for the fear of scaring Dongmin away. ‘Do you want me to check the train times?’

Dongmin turns his head and his hair brushes against Bin’s cheek. ‘It’s ok. I don’t need to hurry.’

‘But Daniel and Niko? You said they were leaving today.’

Bin inhales the warm scent of Dongmin’s hair, not allowing his heart to skip a beat. Not yet.

‘I know. They are both going to a party tonight, that’s why they’ve left earlier. Somebody’s birthday.’ Dongmin snuggles a little closer, his voice languid, almost sleepy in the soft darkness.

‘They’ve left already? And you? Are you going? To the party, I mean.’

‘No. The birthday girl is a business major I’ve never met, her boyfriend is a friend of Niko’s. But even if I were invited, I would have probably said no. I’m having a one-to-one lesson with Professor Schulz tomorrow at eleven. He rarely tutors exchange students, so it’s an honour. A massive hangover wouldn’t be… that great.’

Bin stills, hardly drawing a breath. ‘So you don’t need to leave today?’

‘No. I can catch the first train in the morning.’

There is something in Dongmin’s answer – Bin doesn’t dare to give it a name yet – but it’s there. He blushes and chastises himself for the persistent thoughts that start running away with him mere seconds after Dongmin has opened his mouth. He shouldn’t be thinking what he is thinking; maybe there isn’t any hidden meaning behind Dongmin’s words, maybe the thickening of air around them, the tension, is a figment of Bin’s imagination. Dongmin’s tone is devoid of any flirting; it’s simply a remark, uttered lightly, without much deliberation – yet Bin’s heart speeds up.

He knows what is he is about to say, can feel the words forming in his mind, like a strange, daring creature emerging from deep waters. He feels them even before they happen, before they echo, soft around the edges, in the darkening room.

‘Please, stay.’

………………………………..

Bin sits on the bed, one leg bouncing nervously up and down.

He doesn’t know what to do. Dongmin is in the bathroom, putting on a pair of spare PJs that Bin has unearthed for him from the very bottom of his underwear drawer. Bin can hear the sound of running water in the shower and his chest is tightening with nerves.

He doesn’t know what to do. Or rather, he knows exactly what to do but is scared that his tried and tested moves won’t work on Dongmin and he will hopelessly embarrass himself. For a very different reason, he is also scared that they might work too well. Frankly, he is not sure which one would be worse.

The water in the bathroom stops and the wild thumping in his chest intensifies.

The feeling is new. He never used to care; his occasional Fridays and Saturdays meant nothing more than a distraction, an outlet during those nights when even the bone-deep tiredness after a whole week of skiing wasn’t enough to send his body into catatonic sleep. The equation was simple – a little companionship, shared warmth for a couple of hours, no strings attached.

He never promised anything and for the most part, the feeling was mutual.

But he can't do this to Dongmin. The mere thought of treating him as one of his hook-ups fills Bin with a sense of dread.

Not Dongmin.

Not him.

He clutches one of the pillows to his chest and with a flinch he realises it still faintly smells like Jenna. A flash of memory, Jenna getting out of bed and ruffling his hair a little with a smile – maybe see you next year, cowboy – picking up her clothes from the floor, her beautiful legs, long and toned, dark hair slithering down her back.

No, Jenna saw their casual encounter for what it was and wasn’t bothered by it.

What about the others thought? With a pang of guilt, Bin remembers Marco and his shy smile, the way he softly kissed Bin’s cheek before he tiptoed out of the room on Saturday morning, leaving his number behind - and Bin, who was pretending to be asleep to escape the awkwardness he sensed was coming.

He thought of ringing Marco at first but in the end he didn’t. Too much effort, too many other people, eager to smile at him on Friday nights, to talk to, to flirt with.

Right now, he feels horrified. He puts down the pillow with Jenna’s scent still clinging to it, panic rising in his throat – briefly considering to change the sheets – but the door to the bathroom opens and Dongmin walks out, hair still damp from the shower, and sits down on the bed next to him.

‘You ok?’ Dongmin casts him a sideway glance, a look of sweet concern on his face. ‘For a moment, you looked like you were in pain.’

‘Just the muscles,’ he lies, almost too easily. ‘Tired after the whole week.’

The silence stretches awkwardly, taut, ready to snap. Dongmin fiddles with a ring on his finder and Bin has to fight an absurd surge of jealousy when looking at the silver band.

Does it mean something? Does it mean there is somebody waiting for him back in Seoul?

‘Well… If you’re tired we should go to bed.’

The words wake Bin up from his stupor and he startles a little.

The horror on Dongmin’s face is unmistakable. ‘I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that! That… That came out really wrong!’

‘No, no, it’s ok,’ he shakes his head. ‘I know you didn’t mean it….’

The briefest of touches on Dongmin’s shoulder, trying to reassure.

Wanting to linger.

Wanting to touch, to hold, to caress.

Smiling, Dongmin comes to his rescue. ‘Which side is yours?’

Desperate to keep him away from the remnants of Jenna’s perfume, Bin grabs the offending pillow and scoots over. ‘I’ll go near the wall.’

Dongmin seems to be relieved at not being caged in and lies down, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

Bin reaches over and turns off the night lamp. The darkness swallows Dongmin’s silhouette for a moment, until Bin’s eyes grow used to it. He burrows under the covers, keeping a safe distance from Dongmin’s rigid shape.

The silence shifts, becomes more tangible in the dark.

It’s hard to breathe in the stillness. Bin’s heartbeat feels too loud, his breaths sound too shaky; he needs to talk, to punctuate the thick air around them with words, any words to detract from his tightening chest.

‘Do you like it here? In Austria?’

Next to him, Dongmin turns to his side and curls up in a ball, eyes on Bin now, even if he can hardly see Dongmin’s gaze in the shadow.

‘It’s fascinating. I’m learning a lot; so many people passionate about Mozart in one place, it’s amazing. And everything looks so different.’

The evasiveness in Dongmin’s words make Bin want to stretch out his hand and stroke Dongmin’s hair.

‘But do you like it here? Are you having fun?’

Dongmin lets out a shaky breath, ‘It gets a bit lonely… sometimes. I’m glad I met you.’

Bin aches. He finds Dongmin’s hand and squeezes gently.

‘Me too. I mean…I’m glad that we’ve met. I’m glad we did.’

The silvery darkness mercifully hides his burning cheeks and he prays Dongmin won’t pull away his hand.

He doesn’t.

In the hush that follows, Dongmin’s breathing grows deeper after a while; Bin wants to listen to it till the end of his life. It is the only thing that matters.

Dongmin’s even breaths in the stillness of the night.

His hand in Bin’s.

………………………………

Early in the morning, the train station is submerged in grey mist, the far ends of the platform disappearing in the milky fog, like a scene from a cheap horror movie. The commuters are huddled in their coats, heads down, fiddling with their phones. Nobody talks.

Amongst them, Dongmin looks like a prince transported from a faraway land and for a moment, Bin stares, everything around him forgotten.

‘Here’s your coffee,’ the woman behind the counter touches his hand. ‘Excuse me, young man? Your coffee?’

‘Oh!’ Bin’s eyes tear away from Dongmin and he stammers a quick apology, grabs the paper cup and joins Dongmin at the platform.

‘Got your ticket?’

Dongmin’s nose is pink, peeking from a big red scarf wrapped around his neck. ‘Yes, mum.’

‘Sorry,’ Bin laughs, a little embarrassed, and presses the hot drink into Dongmin’s hands.

Dongmin’s fingers wrap gratefully around the cup. ‘Where is yours?’

‘I don’t want one. Not from here, anyway. That stuff is ok in emergencies but it tastes like… I guess I should shut up now if you’re going to drink it.’

‘Brilliant,’ Dongmin huffs in mock indignation but keeps clutching the cup anyway, enjoying the warmth.

Suddenly there is nothing more to say. Bin watches Dongmin drinking the coffee, eyelashes curving against his cheeks.

He wants to rub his hands against those pink cheeks, to warm them up.

To kiss them.

Dongmin takes one more sip from the cup, wincing slightly. He walks to the nearest rubbish bin and dumps it in. The cup lands at the bottom with a dull thud.

He comes back with a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry. It really was vile.’

Bin doesn’t react. He can't take his eyes away from Dongmin’s lips, red and beautiful and perfectly kissable, and way too close.

‘You ok?’

‘I… Yes, I…’ he stammers, feeling as if he was caught in flagrante with his best friend’s girlfriend, not simply staring at someone’s mouth.

A long, uncomfortable silence follows, Dongmin watching him mutely; Bin’s mind goes completely blank, despite being a screaming cacophony of thoughts just a moment ago.

The train hurtles into the station.

All the hell breaks loose in an instant. People look up from their phones, as if coming alive from their zombie-like state; there is frantic movement everywhere, bodies trying to get off the train, others hurrying to get in.

Bin wants to say something – anything really, anything that would equate to, please, don’t go – when Dongmin leans forward and kisses him.

His lips are softness and warmth and taste like sweet, sticky coffee – and then, in an instant, they are gone. Bin finds himself staring at Dongmin again, who has pulled back, looking out of breath and slightly dazed, as if he just ran a mile, not pecked Bin on the lips.

People are rushing around them and the commotion reminds Bin that in a moment Dongmin will be gone. An uncomfortable tightness shortens his breath. He wants to push Dongmin towards one of the carriages, to end the torture – no point in prolonging the agony – but he finds he can’t.

Dongmin’s lips are like magnets, drawing him nearer - and, oh, how different it feels now, not just looking but _seeing_ , knowing what they really taste like - and he leans forward.

The folds of Dongmin’s scarf are warm as he tangles his fingers in the thick, soft fabric, bringing their bodies together. He knows now; the first kiss has merely been a fleeting moment of sweetness, the first sip - but the longing for more is there, hard to stop, like a runaway train out of control, faster than the one that has just screeched to a halt on the platform.

The way Dongmin sighs into his mouth makes his whole body throb, as if he has been turned inside out - heart and lungs quivering in the cold, stinging air - and he bites into that beautiful plump lip he was staring at not a minute ago.

Dongmin whimpers - the sweetest sound – when the whistle cuts through the air. They break the kiss, Dongmin tearing away and leaping into the carriage mere seconds before the door closes behind him with a hiss.

Staring at each other through the glass, Dongmin splays his palm against the window.

The train starts moving, gathering momentum, leaving Bin behind on the platform.

He watches until the last carriage disappears in the distance, touching his lips, wondering whether he has dreamed it all.


End file.
